"Pretty?" said the Pop-Corn Man. "It was to zee eyes one miracle of remembrances! Zee blue! Zee gold! Zee dazzle! Zee soft fall of zee apple-blossoms!--Though I live to be zee hundred! Though I go blind! Though I go prison! Though my pop-corn all burn up! It fade not! Not never! That peacock! That apple-blossom! That shiver!" "Our supper will all burn up," said my Mother, "if you children don't open your eyes and run home! Already I _think_ I can smell scorched Ginger-bread!" We children all opened our eyes and ran home! My Mother laughed to see us fly! My Father laughed a little! We thought about the Peacock as we ran! We thought quite a little about the Ginger-bread! We wished we had a Peacock! We hoped we had a Ginger-bread! Our Home looked nice. It was as though we hadn't seen it for a long while. It was as though we hadn't seen anything for a long while! The Garden didn't look like Just a Garden any more! It looked like a _Bower_! Carol's tame crow came hopping up the gravel walk! We hadn't remembered that he was so black! The sun through the kitchen window was real gold! There _was_ Ginger-bread! "Oh dear--Oh dear--Oh _dear_!" said Rosalee. "In a world so full of beautiful things--however shall we choose what to tell the Blinded Lady?" Carol ran to the desk. He took a pencil. He took a paper. He slashed the words down. He held it out for us to see. "I know what I'm going to choose," said the words. He took his pencil. He ran away. Rosalee took her pencil. She ran away. Over her shoulder she called back something. What she called back was "Oh Goody! I know what _I'm_ going to choose!" I took my Father's pencil. I ran away. I didn't run very far. I found a basket instead. It was a pretty basket. I made a nest for the White Kitten in case I should win it! I lined the nest with green moss. There was a lot of sunshine in the moss. And little blue flowers. I forgot to come home for supper. That's how I chose what I was going to write! When we woke up the next morning we all felt very busy. It made the day seem funny. It made every day that happened seem funny. Every day somebody took somebody's pencil and ran away! My Mother couldn't find anything! Not children! Not pencils! Rosalee took the Dictionary Book besides. "Anybody'd think," said my Father, "that this was a Graduation Essay you were making instead of just a simple little word-picture for a Blinded Lady!" "Word-picture?" said Rosalee. "What I'm trying to make is a Peacock Feather Fan!" "I wish there were three prizes instead of two!" said my Mother. "Why?" said my Father. Carol came and kicked his feet on the door. His hands were full of stones. He wanted a drink of water. All day long when he wasn't sitting under the old Larch Tree with a pencil in his mouth he was carrying stones! And kicking his feet on the door! And asking for a drink of water! "Whatever in the world," said my Mother, "are you doing with all those stones?"