"We might found a community," he was urging as warmly, she thought, as if he meant it. "Osmond can dig. I can. I wonder if you could milk the cow!" "I have certainly never tried to milk a cow," said Electra, in a tone that bit. But Peter wasn't listening. He was simply pleasing his own creative self. "You shouldn't," he offered generously. "You should 'Sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam, And live on ripe strawberries, sugar, and cream.'" Electra pulled the horse up, and though this was the narrowest bit of road for a mile, turned, with a masterly hand. "How under the sun do you do that?" Peter was asking pleasantly. She interrogated him with a glance, and saw him hunched together in more general abandon. The happier Peter was in his own thoughts and the warmer the sun shone on him, the looser his joints became. To Electra he looked like a vagabond, but she was conscious that if for a moment he would act the part of a great painter, she would bid him sit up, try to get him into a proper cravat, and marry him to-morrow. Careless Peter was quite oblivious to the effect he was creating. He had forgotten Electra, save as some one possessed of two ears to listen. "Turn," he pursued. "How can you turn? I never could. I remember I took you to drive once, ages ago, and I had to keep on in a thunder-shower, round the five-mile curve, because I didn't dare to let you know I couldn't cramp the wheel." Electra remembered the day. Peter was timidly worshipful of her then, and she had found that quite appropriate in him. She remembered the lightning, and how satisfied she had been to go round the five-mile curve, if only to show that she was not timid in a storm. Then it seemed as if Peter had been unable to forego the delight of having her with him; but now it appeared that he could absently sit there hugging his knees and guying the occasion. "I believe I can cramp the wheel," he was saying sunnily, out of an absolute content in his limitations. "Only I never can remember which rein does it. Can you turn either way, Electra, right or left, one just as well as the other?" Electra could not answer in that vein. "Don't!" she said involuntarily. In some moods Peter had a habit of not waiting for answers. "It's beyond me how they do those things," he was saying, "drive, ride, swim. Shouldn't you like to be a fish? I should be mighty proud." "Shall I leave you here?" asked Electra, drawing up at his gate. Peter came out of his childish muse. He saw Rose in the garden, and knew it was better that Electra should find her alone. "Yes, let me out," he said. "I'll run back and see if Osmond is where I left him."