Rainbow Valley

“Well, Martha wouldn’t let us blow bubbles in the house. She was awful cross that day,” explained Jerry. “And this old slab made such a jolly table.”

“Weren’t they pretty?” cried Faith, her eyes sparkling over the remembrance. “They reflected the trees and the hills and the harbour like little fairy worlds, and when we shook them loose they floated away down to Rainbow Valley.”

“All but one and it went over and bust up on the Methodist spire,” said Carl.

“I’m glad we did it once, anyhow, before we found out it was wrong,” said Faith.

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