m.

"I'm trying to learn to do without three lumps," said Peter, as Lucy put
them in. "I expect it's extravagant to have three, really. But then Rhoda
and Thomas don't take any, so it's only the same as if we each had one,
isn't it. Thomas shan't be allowed more than one in each cup when he
grows young enough to want any; Rhoda and I mean him to be a refined
person."

"I don't think he will be," said Lucy, looking thoughtfully into the
future. "I expect he'll be as vulgar as you and me. He's awfully like you
to look at, Peter."

"So I am informed. Well, I'm not vain, and I don't claim to be an Adonis,
like Denis. Is Denis flourishing? The birds were splendid; they came so
thick and fast that I gathered it was being a remarkable season. But as
you only answered my numerous letters by one, and that apropos merely of
Thomas's arrival, I could only surmise and speculate on your doings. I
suppose you thought the grouse were instead of letters."

"They were Denis's letters. _I_ didn't shoot the grouse, dear darlings,
nor send them."

"What were your letters, then?"

"Well, I sent rowan berries, didn't I? Weren't they red?"

"Yes. Even Thomas read them. We're being rather funny, aren't we? Is
Denis going on with Parliament again this autumn, or has he begun to get
tired of it?"

"Not a bit tired of it. He doesn't bother about it particularly, you
know; not enough to tire himself; he sort of takes it for granted, like
going up to Scotland in August."

Peter nodded. "I know. He would take it just like that if he was
Prime Minister, or Archbishop of Canterbury. I daresay he will be one
day; isn't it nice the way things drop into his hands without his
bothering to get them."

He didn't see the queer, silent look Lucy turned on him as he spread his
thick bread and butter with blackberry jam.

"Thomas," she said after a moment, "has dropped into your hands, Peter."
It was as if she was protesting against something, beating herself
against some invisible, eternal barrier that divided the world into
two unequal parts.

Peter said, "Rather, he has. I do hope he'll never drop out. I'm getting
very handy about holding him, though. Oh, let's take him upstairs and tub
him now; do you mind?"

So they took him upstairs and tubbed him, and Lucy managed to hold him so
firmly that he didn't once swim away and get lost.

As they were drying him (Lucy dried him with a firmer and more effective
hand than Peter, who always wiped