Then Lavender could bear it no longer, but called from the Island:
“Who is that laughing in the Mountain?” asked Lavender gently, and all a-tremble at the thought of who might answer.
“Who is that calling me from the Island?” answered little Primrose.
And Lavender recognised Primrose’s baby-talk.
“Primrose! my own only Brother!” cried Lavender, and stood up white in the moonlight.
“Lavender, little sister!” cried Primrose; and, light as a moth, he stepped over the reeds and the rushes and the water-weeds to the Island. They hugged and they kissed; they sat down side by side in the moonlight by the little chapel. A little did they talk, but they were not clever at making a long story. They clasped each other’s little hands and went to sleep.
XI
That was how they began to live day after day on the Holy Lake. Primrose was quite happy and desired nothing better.
There was clear water in the Lake, and there were sweet raspberries. There were plenty of flowers and butterflies in the meadow, and fireflies and dew by night. Nightingales and doves nested in the trees.
Every evening Lavender would make Primrose a bed of leaves, and in the morning she bathed him in the Lake and tied up his little shoes. And Primrose thought: “What do we want with a wider world than this within the furrow?”