She was glad to be clasped in the strong arms and have the hearty kiss on her forehead.
"It is like a different place without thee," he exclaimed. "I cannot make the days go fast enough until spring opens and thou come back with the birds. We are such quiet folk. And here all is gayety. Wilt thou ever be content again?"
"Is gayety so very wrong, Andrew? It seems quite delightful to me," she returned wistfully. "And when the ladies move about in their pretty gowns it is like great flocks of birds, or the meadows with lilies and daisies and red clover-heads. Why do they have all the bright colors?"
A hint of perplexity crossed her brow.
"Surely I cannot tell. And the woods have been robed in scarlet and yellow, and such tints of red brown that one could study them by the hour. And the corn has turned a russet yellow and looks like the tents of an army. Yes, there are divers colors in the world."
"And sometimes I have wished to be a butterfly. They were so beautiful, skimming along. God made them surely."
"Yes. But He put no soul in them. Perhaps that was to show His estimate of fine gear."
Primrose sighed.
"They would make heaven more beautiful. And the singing birds! Oh, surely, Cousin Andrew, they must be saved."
"Nay, child, such talk is not seemly. What should a thing without a soul do in heaven where all is praise and worship?"