"What for?"
"I don't know. To enjoy the summer, I suppose."
"That's their sort," said the old woman slowly. "Jest to get pleasure. I used for to see 'em flyin' past here in all the colours o' the rainbow—last time they was in Pleasant Valley."
"But God made the colours of the rainbow," said Diana.
"So he did," the old lady answered, laughing a little. "So he did; and the colours of the flowers, which is the same colours, to be sure; but what then, Diana?"
"I was thinking, Mother Bartlett—it cannot displease him that we should like them too."
"No, child, it don't; nor it don't displease him to have us wear 'em, nother,—if we could only wear 'em as innercently as the flowers doos. If you kin, Diana, you may be as scarlet as a tulip or as bright as a marigold, for all I care."
"But people are not any better for putting on dark colours," said Diana.
"They're some modester, though."
"Why?"