"I do wish butterflies had nests like birds, Magdalen, don't you?
But this is a new butterfly, not ready to fly.

I shall hurt it unless I'm careful." She made her sister stop the pony, and knelt down amid the shimmering whortleberry, and tenderly placed the sprig with the butterfly still clinging to it in a little pool of sunshine.

But as she did it the butterfly walked from its twig on to her white hand and rested on it, opening and shutting its wings.
It was a pretty sight to watch Fay coax it to a leaf.

But Magdalen's heart ached for her sister as she knelt in the sunshine.

Words rose to her lips for the twentieth time, but she choked them down again.