Sophy, transported with delight, and ready to promise anything in the way of courage, ran for her hat and jacket and quickly followed Peter to the barn, whither he gone to inspect the mushroom bed. It was a mild day in early spring. The young leaves had just burst forth upon the trees, and the smell of earth, and the gentle murmurings of the little brooks in pasture and woods, and the soft freshness of the breeze, showed that another winter had passed. Many of the birds had returned to their summer homes and were busily engaged in nest-building, and little chipmunks darted about in a ceaseless game of tag, pausing for a moment to peer inquisitively at Sophy with their bright eyes, and then vanishing from sight. Peter, having attended to his affairs at the barn, took his way across the pasture. Sirius scampered on in advance, nosing here and there along the path, stopping to investigate every hole and barking noisily at a gray squirrel, which climbed the trunk of a tree at his approach, and then sat on a branch in safety, but extreme indignation. “Do squirrels go to sleep in winter, Peter?” asked Sophy, as she trudged along close to his side. “They do usually, but it was so warm this winter I guess they didn’t get so sound asleep. I’ll tell you something, Soph. Carney and I both think the same thing. You know people always say that when there are a lot of nuts, it means that we are going to have a cold winter and the squirrels will have plenty to eat. Well, you know there were plenty of nuts last fall, and look at the winter we’ve had! As warm as toast. I think, and Carney thinks so, too, that it means a warm winter to have so many nuts. The squirrels are not going to sleep so much, and so they will need more food. And look at last year; scarcely any nuts in the fall and an awfully cold winter. I’m going to write to the _Transcript_ about it sometime, and see what people say. Other people will answer, and it will be lots of fun. Sophy, I’ll tell you something if you’ll promise never to tell. Will you?” “Do you mean _never_?” “Yes, never, until I’ve done it. Then I’ll tell it myself.” “All right, Peter, I’ll promise,” said the little sister. The absence of the front teeth made her lisp slightly, and Peter was alarmingly apt to make fun of this defect when she used the letter “s”; but he was too much engrossed with his subject at present to remark upon it, greatly to Sophy’s relief. A wave of gratification filled her heart, both because of this and because her brother was apparently about to make a confidante of her. “I’ll promise,” she repeated solemnly. “What is it?” “When I grow up,” said Peter, “in a very few years, I’m going to write a book.” “Peter! A real printed book?” “Of course, child. What other kind of a book could it be?” “And what will it be about? A story like _Alice in Wonderland_ or _Little Women_?”