now and he doesn't seem to let the heroine help him a bit. Oh, Sam, if
Peter were to fail with this play after Farrington has encouraged him I
don't know what might happen! I'm sorry you ever mentioned Keats to me.
I dream about him at night. I adored him when I was at The Manor, and so
did Mabel," and my lips quivered so I had to turn against the harness
hanging on the wall against which I drooped.

"Keats or Peter?" asked Sam as he pressed his whip across my shoulders
in comforting little licks because his hand was too muddy to pat me.

"Both," I sniffed.

"Don't," said Sam, with cheering command in his voice. "We are too late
to help Keats, and plenty early to pull Pete out of his divine fire.
Let's go get some good grub from Mammy so we can plant the garden before
sundown, and stake out the poet's corner, too. I didn't have the money
to hire the plowing done, but I am almost through for the present; and I
can whirl in now and get in shape for Petie's rescue in no time."

"It's popped its skin with stuffing, and Mammy says come on while the
'taters stands up stiff," announced the Byrd, half-way up the path from
the house to the barn.

"He's talking about a duckling, but let's hope Peter can be mentioned in
the same terms in the near future," said Sam, as he drove the fleet Byrd
and me before him with the switch, in a scamper to Mammy and food.

"Yes," said Sam, as he stood an hour later in the middle of the plot
under the south window, which spread out in the sun like a great black
lake, smooth from his repeated plowing and harrowing, "that is the