Linda laid down the letter, folded her hands across it, and once
more looked at the stars.
"Good gracious!" she said. "I am tincturing those letters with
too much Peter. I'll have to tone down a bit. Next thing I know
she will be losing her chance with that wonderful Snow man for a
dream. In my efforts to comfort her I must have gone too far.
It is all right to write a gushy love letter and stuff it full of
Peter's whimsical nonsense, but, in the language of the poet, how
am I going to 'deliver the goods'? Of course that talk about
Louise Whiting was all well enough. Equally, of course, I
outlined and planted the brook and designed the bridge for
Marian, whether she knows it or Peter knows it, or not. If they
don't know it, it's about time they were finding it out. I think
it's my job to visit Peter more frequently and see if I can't
invent some way to make him see the light. I will give Katy a
hint in the morning. Tomorrow evening I'll go up and have supper
with him and see if he has another article in the stewpan. I
like this work with Peter. I like having him make me dream
dreams and see pictures. I like the punch and the virility he
puts into my drawings. It's all right reproducing monkey flowers
and lilies for pastime, but for serious business, for real life
work, I would rather do Peter's brainstorming, heart-thrilling
pictures than my merely pretty ones. On the subject of Peter, I
must remember in the morning to take those old books he gave me
to Donald.
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