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XIII. A Golden Picnic
“Likethat,Ishouldthink,”answeredAnne,pointingtoaradianceofsiftedsunlightstreamingthroughabirchtree.“Onlywithshapeandfeaturesofcourse.Iliketofancysoulsasbeingmadeoflight.Andsomeareallshotthroughwithrosystainsandquivers...andsomehaveasoftglitterlikemoonlightonthesea...andsomearepaleandtransparentlikemistatdawn.”
“Ireadsomewhereoncethatsoulswerelikeflowers,”saidPriscilla.
“Thenyoursoulisagoldennarcissus,”saidAnne,“andDiana’sislikeared,redrose.Jane’sisanappleblossom,pinkandwholesomeandsweet.”
“Andyourownisawhiteviolet,withpurplestreaksinitsheart,”finishedPriscilla.
JanewhisperedtoDianathatshereallycouldnotunderstandwhattheyweretalkingabout.Couldshe?
Thegirlswenthomebythelightofacalmgoldensunset,theirbasketsfilledwithnarcissusblossomsfromHester’sgarden,someofwhichAnnecarriedtothecemeterynextdayandlaiduponHester’sgrave.Minstrelrobinswerewhistlinginthefirsandthefrogsweresinginginthemarshes.Allthebasinsamongthehillswerebrimmedwithtopazandemeraldlight.
“Well,wehavehadalovelytimeafterall,”saidDiana,asifshehadhardlyexpectedtohaveitwhenshesetout.
“Ithasbeenatrulygoldenday,”saidPriscilla.
“I’mreallyawfullyfondofthewoodsmyself,”saidJane.
Annesaidnothing.ShewaslookingafarintothewesternskyandthinkingoflittleHesterGray.
