And now, in the lovely spring-weather, Irene was out on the mountain
the
greater part of the day. In the warmer hollows there were lovely
primroses, and not so many that she ever got tired of them. As often as
she saw a new one opening an eye of light in the blind earth, she would
clap her hands with gladness, and, unlike some children I know,
instead
of pulling it, would touch it as tenderly as if it had been a new baby,
and, having made its acquaintance, would leave it as happy as she
found
it. She treated the plants on which they grew like birds' nests; every
fresh flower was like a new little bird to her. She would pay a visit to
all the flower-nests she knew, remembering each by itself. She would
go
down on her hands and knees beside one and say "Good morning! Are
you
all smelling very sweet this morning? Good-bye!" And then she would
go
to another nest, and say the same. It was a favorite amusement with
her.
There were many flowers up and down, and she loved them all, but the
primroses were her favorites.
"They're not too shy, and they're not a bit forward," she would say to
Madhuri Noah
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