re too old to be rocked in a cradle. You are too old to
write pothooks and hangers, and too old, alas, to steal pickles and jam
when the house is abed. Yet there are still a few things you might do
if--

Jennifer: Oh, if?

Martin: If you could find a friend as old as yourself, or even a little
older, to help you.

Jennifer: But think how old h--h--h-- the friend would have to be.

Martin: What would that matter? For all grass is green enough if it not
near grass that looks greener.

Jennifer: Oh, is this true?

Martin: It is indeed. And I believe too that were your friend's hair
red enough, and your friend's freckled nose snub enough, since youth
resides long in these qualities, you might even, with such a companion,
begin once more to steal pickles and jam by night, to learn your
pothooks and hangers, and even in time to be rocked asleep by a cradle.

Jennifer: D-d-dear Master Pippin.

Martin: They look quite green, don't they?

And he laid the two blades side by side on her palm, and Jennifer,
whose voice once more would not serve her, nodded and put the two
blades in her pocket. Then Martin took out his handkerchief and very
carefully dried her eyes and cheeks, saying as he did so, "Now that I
have explained this to your satisfaction, won't you, please, explain
something to mine?"

Jennifer: I will if I can.

Martin: Then explain what it is you have against men.

Jennifer: I don't know how to tell you, it is so terrible.

Martin: I will try to bear it.

Jennifer: They say women cannot--cannot--

Martin: Cannot?

Jennifer: Keep secrets!

Martin: Men say so?

Jennifer: Yes!

Martin: MEN say so?

Jennifer: They do, they do!

Martin: Men! Oh, Jupiter! if this were true--but it is not--these men
would be blabbing the greatest of secrets in saying so. If I had a
secret--but I have not--do you think I would trust it to a man? Not I!
What does a man do with a secret? Forgets it, throws it behind him into
some empty chamber of his brain and lets the cobwebs smother it! buries
it in some deserted corner of his heart, and lets the weeds grow over
it! Is this keeping a secret? Would you keep a garden or a baby so? I
will a thousand times sooner give my secret to a woman. She will tend
it and cherish it, laugh and cry with it, dress it in a new dress every
day and dandle it in the world's eye for joy and pride in it--nay, she
will bid the whole world come into her nursery to admire the pretty
secret