over," said Peter. "I got a new gut line from the postman this morning. He gave it me for a bunch of roses for his sweetheart. She's ill."
"Then I do think you might have given her the roses for nothing," said Bobbie, indignantly.
"Nyang, nyang!" said Peter, disagreeably, and put his hands in his pockets.
"He did, of course," said Phyllis, in haste; "directly we heard she was ill we got the roses ready and waited by the gate. It was when you were making the brekker-toast. And when he'd said 'Thank-you' for the roses so many times,—much more than he need have,—he pulled out the line and gave it to Peter. It wasn't exchange. It was the grateful heart."
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Peter," said Bobbie, "I am so sorry."
"Don't mention it," said Peter, grandly, "I knew you would be."
So then they all went up to the Canal bridge. The idea was to fish from the bridge, but the line was not quite long enough.
"Never mind," said Bobbie. "Let's just stay here and look at things. Everything's so beautiful."
It was. The sun was setting in red splendour over the gray and purple hills, and the canal lay
