(If this were so it must have been in his dreams, for he was an exceptionally sound sleeper, as Nansie well knew, by reason of her own mind being really disturbed by thoughts of the future.) "What will have to be decided is what I am fit for and what I can do, and the thing then is," and Kingsley looked pleasantly around, as though he were addressing an audience, "to go and do it. Yes," he repeated, "to go and do it. You cannot deny, Nansie, my darling, that that is the practical way to go about it." "Yes, Kingsley, dear," said Nansie, with fond admiration, "that is the practical way." "To buy another caravan," pursued Kingsley, "and a horse, and to fit it up comfortably with chairs and tables and beds, an easy-chair for you, my dear, and one for me; and a little library of books, and a piano--because there is nothing so pleasant on a beautiful evening in the woods, when the birds have settled in their nests and all nature is hushed and still, preparing by needful repose for the joyous life of to-morrow; there is nothing, I say, so pleasant as to sit by the side of a dear little wife while she plays the airs one loves best--but I am afraid there would not be room for a piano." "I am afraid not, dear," said Nansie, humoring him. "It is a pity. If it were too warm--being summer, my dear Nansie--to sit inside the caravan, we might move the piano into the open, where you could charm the birds from their nests. They could not resist the temptation of coming out to listen to the concert, and perhaps join in. Now, that would form a pretty picture. A gifted fellow could almost write verses on it. But it is not to be thought of, Nansie, is it?--I mean the piano, not the verses." "I am afraid not, Kingsley, dear," said Nansie, into whose heart was stealing a kind of pity--pity which had no terrors in it, but rather nerved her to courage, and was the germ of a new teaching in her gentle nature. "I think you must admit, my dear," said Kingsley, taking her hand and patting it softly, "that the moment I perceive an idea, however enticing it may be, is not practical, I send it to the right about. As I do the piano. Away it goes, and I take off my hat to it with regret." There was something so kindly and humorous in his speech, and in the expressions and gestures which accompanied it, that Nansie did not have the heart to check it or to dispute it with him.