Peter looked at Linda reflectively and then he told her that he
could see it. He fold her that he adored it, that he was crazy
about her straggly continuity and her fringy border, but there
was not one word of truth in what he said, because what he saw
was a slender thing, willowy, graceful; roughened wavy black hair
hanging half her length in heavy braids, dark eyes and bright
cheeks, a vivid red line of mouth, and a bright brown line of
freckles bridging a prominent and aristocratic nose. What he was
seeing was a soul, a young thing, a thing he coveted with every
nerve and fiber of his being. And while he glibly humored her in
her vision of decorating his brook, in his own consciousness he
was saying to himself: "Is there any reason why I should not try
for her?"

And then he answered himself. "There is no reason in your life.
There is nothing ugly that could offend her or hurt her. The
reason, the real reason, probably lies in the fact that if she
were thinking of caring for anyone it would be for that
attractive young schoolmate she brought up here for me to
exercise my wits upon. It is very likely that she regards me in
the light of a grandfatherly person to whom she can come with her
joys or her problems, as frankly as she has now."

So Peter asked if the irises crossed the brook and ran down both
sides. Linda sat on a packing case and concentrated on the iris,
and finally she announced that they did. She informed him that
his place was going to bc natural, that Nature evolved things in
her own way. She did not grow irises down one side of a brook
and arrowheads down the other. They waded across and flew across