“There, there,” broke in Mrs. Busson’s soothing tones, “if you did say the name wrong, it’s no wonder, but there’s abundance of butterflies of all sorts to be had here, that I do know, so I wouldn’t worry my poor little head about the name of any particular one,” she added, in blissful unconsciousness of Andrew’s disgust at her misplaced consideration and of the other boys’ keen delight thereat.
Meanwhile, Diana, who liked to have a finger in every pie, was eagerly enquiring as to the day for cheese-making.
“Oh! that’ll be the day after to-morrow, and the next day there’ll be a grand jam-boiling. The girls are gathering the gooseberries already.”
“And what is it you want to know, my dear?”—this to Marygold.
“Will the bees be swarming soon?” enquired that small person.
“Well, that I can’t say for certain; we’ve had a fairish number already, but maybe there’ll be a swarm yet, and then you shall make bee-music, that you shall, to your heart’s content.”
“And—and—” asked Hubert, who between his struggles with a huge bit of cake and attempts to make himself heard was as scarlet as a field poppy, “is there a nice little pond, where I can catch fish with nice pinky wriggling worms?”
“Yes, bless his dear little soul, there’s a pond to be sure, and perhaps just a fish or two in it,” replied Mrs. Busson, proceeding to empty half a pot of blackberry jam on to Hubert’s plate. “Well, and what is it you are going to ask?” she added to Phoena, who had hardly eaten any of the good cheer as yet; but though she was so silent, her small white face, with its starry eyes, had been full of thought.
“I want to know, please, are there any glow-worms about here?” she asked.
“Bound to be some soon, if there are none yet,” was the reply, “I’ve seen many a one down on the bank in the water-meadow of a summer’s evening, when the twilight’s wearing through.”