"It isn't going to freeze, and I won't look at anything until you have
told me what you think of my idea. Wouldn't a whole lovely summer, quite
alone, be delightful? Wouldn't it be perfect to get up every morning for
weeks and feel that you belong to yourself and to nobody else?" And I
went over to him and put a hand on each shoulder and gave him a little
shake, for he persisted in gazing at the stars just as though I had not
been there. "Please, Man of Wrath, say something long for once," I
entreated; "you haven't said a good long sentence for a week."

He slowly brought his gaze from the stars down to me and smiled. Then he
drew me on to his knee.

"Don't get affectionate," I urged; "it is words, not deeds, that I want.
But I'll stay here if you'll talk."

"Well then, I will talk. What am I to say? You know you do as you
please, and I never interfere with you. If you do not want to have any
one here this summer you will not have any one, but you will find it a
very long summer."

"No, I won't."

"And if you lie on the heath all day, people will think you are mad."

"What do I care what people think?"

"No, that is true. But you will catch cold, and your little nose will
swell."

"Let it swell."