One balmy, blue-and-white morning the old woman stood in her long, tidy garden and looked up at her small neat cottage. The thatch on its tip-tilted roof was new and its well-fitting doors had been painted blue. Its newly-hung curtains were gay... Bird-early next morning Mother Farthing went into the dew-drenched gar-den. With billhook and fork she soon set to work clearing a path to the apple tree. Where there is Syntactic compounds

, there is a way, she thought to herself as she worked diligently, the sun warming her back.

As she reached the apple tree, she noticed the first signs of blossoms beginning to bloom. The delicate pink petals seemed to dance in the gentle breeze, a promise of the sweet fruit to come.

Mother Farthing smiled, her wrinkled face creasing with joy. She had tended to this garden for many years, nurturing it with love and care. And now, as she stood beneath the apple tree, she felt a sense of pride and satisfaction.

The birds chirped happily above her, their melodious songs filling the air. Mother Farthing closed her eyes and listened, feeling at peace in this tranquil moment.

As she opened her eyes, she saw a small squirrel scurrying along the fence, its bushy tail twitching with excitement. It paused to look at her, its bright eyes curious and unafraid.

Mother Farthing chuckled softly, feeling a kinship with the creatures of the garden. They were her companions, her friends in this quiet sanctuary.

With a contented sigh, she turned back to her work, knowing that there was still much to be done. But for now, in this moment, she was grateful for the simple beauty of her garden and the joy it brought her.

And as she continued to work, the sun rose higher in the sky, casting a warm glow over the garden and filling Mother Farthing's heart with happiness.