He said that his eyes were red because he had a cold. This turned
out to be true, though Peter did not know it was when he said it,
the next day he had to go to bed and stay there. Mother began to be
afraid that he might be sickening for measles, when suddenly he sat
up in bed and said:

"I hate gruel--I hate barley water--I hate bread and milk. I want to
get up and have something REAL to eat."

"What would you like?" Mother asked.

"A pigeon-pie," said Peter, eagerly, "a large pigeon-pie. A very
large one."

So Mother asked the Cook to make a large pigeon-pie. The pie was
made. And when the pie was made, it was cooked. And when it was
cooked, Peter ate some of it. After that his cold was better.
Mother made a piece of poetry to amuse him while the pie was being
made. It began by saying what an unfortunate but worthy boy Peter
was, then it went on:

He had an engine that he loved
With all his heart and soul,
And if he had a wish on earth
It was to keep it whole.

One day--my friends, prepare your minds;
I'm coming to the worst--
Quite suddenly a screw went mad,
And then the boiler burst!