Yellow Butterflies
by Mary S Andrews
Out from the door of the house burst the laughing, shouting little lad. He raced across the grass and halted by the tulip-bed; there, with yet more shouts of full-throated baby laughter, he turned to look back at his young mother, racing after him, standing now in the doorway. His head was yellow as a flower, almost as yellow as the tulips, and the spun-silk, glittering hair of five years old curled tight in a manner of aureole. As the girl gazed at him, glorying in him, suddenly the sun came brilliantly from under a cloud, and, as if at a signal, out of the clover-patch at the edge of the lawn stormed a myriad of butterflies and floated about the golden head.