One day Eric brought him a little bunch of primroses and violets. He
seemed much better, and Eric's spirits were high with the thoughts and
hopes of the coming holidays. "There, Edwin," he said, as the boy
gratefully and eagerly took the flowers, "don't they make you glad? They
are one of our _three_ signs, you know, of the approaching holidays. One
sign was the first sight of the summer steamer going across the bay;
another was May eve, when these island-fellows light big gorse fires all
over the mountains, and throw yellow marsh-lilies at their doors to keep
off the fairies. Do you remember, Eddy, gathering some last May eve, and
sitting out in the playground till sunset, watching the fires begin to
twinkle on Cronck-Irey and Barrule for miles away? What a jolly talk we
had that evening about the holidays; but my father and mother were here
then, you know, and we were all going to Fairholm. But the third
sign--the first primrose and violet--was always the happiest. You can't
think how I _grabbed_ at the first primrose this year; I found it by a
cave on the Ness.
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