"It wouldn't be kind to pin your
friends on a setting board and use a microscope on them. You
might see things that were strictly private. You might see
things they wouldn't want you to see. They might not be your
friends any more if you did that. When I make a friend I just
take him on trust like I did Donald. You're my friend, aren't
you, Peter?"
"Yes, Linda," said Peter soberly. "Put me to any test you can
think of if you want proof."
"But I don't believe in PROVING friends, either," said Linda. "I
believe in nurturing them. I would set a friend in my garden and
water his feet and turn the sunshine on him and tell him to stay
there and grow. I might fertilize him, I might prune him, and I
might use insecticide on him. I might spray him with rather
stringent solutions, but I give you my word I would not test him.
If he flourished under my care I would know it, and if he did not
I would know it, and that would be all I would want to know. I
have watched Daddy search for the seat of nervous disorders, and
sometimes he had to probe very deep to find what developed nerves
unduly but he didn't ever do any picking and raveling and
fringing at the soul of a human being merely for the sake of
finding out what it was made of; and everyone says I am like
him."
"I wish I might have known him," said Peter.
"Don't I wish it!" said Linda. "Now then, Peter, go ahead. Read
your article."
Peter opened a packing case, picked out a sheaf of papers, and
sitting opposite Linda, began to read.
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