ut Fall River for us: not
the Picture Palaces, of which there must be about a million; not the
coloured posters of the Azores, put up to please the homesick Portuguese
labourers, but the reappearance of Peter Storm. Frankly, dearest, I had
been afraid in my inmost heart that the Mystery was going to close round
Peter like a dark cloud, hiding him from our sight forever. Caspian had
perhaps hoped that this might be the case. But Peter had said that he
would be found standing at the corner of Elm Street (there wasn't an elm
in it, or any other tree), and there he was, though we were early at the
rendezvous rather than late.

I forgot to tell you that Pat started out from Newport in our car, the
bride and bridegroom squeezing into the Grayles-Grice. I'd accused the
girl of not looking well--a stupidity of which I should never be capable
if I hadn't an object to gain--and she had owned to a slight headache. I
said that I had some wonderful pillules that I could give her; but I
must administer them myself, and they must be taken every half-hour. Of
course there was nothing for it but she must come to us; and she
brightened visibly with every mile, though whether owing to the pillules
or the increasing nearness of Fall River, I can't say, and wouldn't if I
could.

Having disposed of the honeymooners, there was room in our car for
Peter. Jack and I had manoeuvred (by taking a short cut Jack found on
a map) to reach Elm Street first; so we did a sort of Sabine business
reversed: snatched up Peter and dashed on. I could almost _hear_ Ed
Caspian gnashing his teeth in the G.-G. just behind. It was a sound like
something wrong with the gear.

Boston you perhaps know more about than I do, at any rate from books.
But you would like to see Jack here--and Monty with him, of course: two
wounded heroes enjoying a well-earned repose, as many a wounded hero has
enjoyed in other days. He--Jack--wonders if the famous Tea is lying at
the bottom of the harbour still, in hermetically sealed tins, and
whether it improves with age.

I broke it to you with the top of my letter that we're in a perfectly
gorgeous hotel. Jack and I have a suite which would be good enough for a
king and queen. He was determined that we'd "do ourselves well," as we
are to stay several days, running out to Plymouth and so on, and running
back. We've been here now only one night and a morning, but already our
sitting-room looks, in some ways, as if we'd taken it for