nd vice versa. It seemed as if Mr. Caspian had wanted her to get
Peter back in the middle of the trip, on a pretense of much work; but he
tried to make me believe it was not his wish at all. "I am Mrs.
Shuster's friend, and she asks my advice," he said. "Honestly I do think
Storm is a slacker about work. It looks as if he'd only engaged as her
secretary to get into a class above his own and enjoy himself. I'm
afraid he'll lose his job if he doesn't 'watch' out, the way Mrs.
Shuster feels. But she's good-natured, and perhaps she'll give him
another chance if he shows his good will by stopping indoors to-morrow
and correcting some proofs that must go to the publishers in a hurry. I
happen to know they've arrived, by express delivery. It's a test of
Storm's loyalty. If you're willing to let me drive your car on its
sight-seeing tour of the neighbourhood, Storm can make good with Mrs.
Shuster."

These were almost the words he spoke, for I listened hard while I
thought what to do.

I answered, sweet as honey, "Yes, _please_ drive to-morrow. I will tell
Mr. Storm he is free to work for Mrs. Shuster all day long."

He was so pleased with me! Then Peter happened to walk by, in another
path, and I said, "I will break it now." "Do!" he whispered back; and
did not try to come with me, as he often does if I am going near Peter.

It is a joke with Peter and me since the mistake of the telegrams that
Mr. Caspian would do some desperate thing to drive the Grayles-Grice,
and that made it more easy to play a little trick. I said: "I hear you
are asked to correct proofs of a peace tract. Is it hard to do, or could
I help when I finish a long letter I write to-morrow? I have seen so
many beautiful sights, I shall mix all up in my mind if I see more
before I put on paper my thoughts about them. Mr. Caspian can drive well
enough the short smooth ways we have mapped out, do you not think?--and
he would have his wish."

Peter laughed, and so did I. There was not need to explain for him to
understand that the plan was part of our joke.

Oh, it has been the most heavenly day in the garden! I have sat on a
purply red velvet cushion, on a marble seat brought from Italy. Behind
the seat is a row of cedars, like a guard of black soldiers. These
things suit Long Island as well as they suit Italy, though Peter laughs
at them for being here. He laughs in a good-natured yet almost sad way,
as if he thought it wrong to make fun of what a dead man