“I know,” said Kenneth.
“The birch tree stems are whiter than ever I saw them, just like silver, Kennie.”
“Yes.”
“And their branches are trailing down with the weight of their bonnie wee glittering leaves.”
“Yes, yes.”
“Then the needles on the larch trees were never so soft and green before, I’m sure, and they are just covered with red tassels.”
“Yes.”
“And the rowan trees (Rowan tree—the mountain ash) are covered with white flowers. What lots of scarlet roddans they’ll have in autumn! And the birds are all building, as I said. I have a hoody-craw’s nest in a Scotch fir in Alva, and a kestrel’s in a terribly tall tree at Aultmore. That magpie is building a brand-new nest; I knew she’d have to.”
“Well?”
“Well, there are five eggs in a laverock’s among the corn, and I know where there is a ptarmigan’s and a whaup’s, far away up among the mountains.”