y large
one."

So Mother asked the Cook to make a large pigeon-pie. The pie was made.
And when the pie was made, it was cooked. And when it was cooked, Peter
ate some of it. After that his cold was better. Mother made a piece of
poetry to amuse him while the pie was being made. It began by saying
what an unfortunate but worthy boy Peter was, then it went on:

He had an engine that he loved
With all his heart and soul,
And if he had a wish on earth
It was to keep it whole.

One day--my friends, prepare your minds;
I'm coming to the worst--
Quite suddenly a screw went mad,
And then the boiler burst!

With gloomy face he picked it up
And took it to his Mother,
Though even he could not suppose
That she could make another;

For those who perished on the line
He did not seem to care,
His engine being more to him
Than all the people there.

And now you see the reason why
Our Peter has been ill:
He soothes his soul with pigeon-pie
His gnawing grief to kill.

He wraps himself in blankets warm
And sleeps in bed till late,
Determined thus to overcome
His miserable fate.

And if his eyes are rather red,
His cold must just excuse it:
Offer him pie; you may be sure
He never will refuse it.

Father had been away in the country for three or four days. All Peter's
hopes for the curing of his afflicted Engine were now fixed on his
Father, for Father was most wonderfully clever with his fingers. He
could mend all sorts of things. He had often acted as veterinary surgeon
to the wooden rocking-horse; once he had saved its life when all human
aid was despaired of, and the poor creature was given up for lost, and
even the carpenter said he didn't see his way to do anything. And it was
Father who mended the doll's cradle when no one else could; and with a
little glue and some bits of wood and a pen-knife made all the Noah's
Ark beasts as strong on their pins as ever they were, if not stronger.

Peter, with heroic unselfishness, did not say anything about his Engine
till after Father had had his dinner and his after-dinner cigar. The
unselfishness was Mother's idea--but it was Peter who carried it out.
And needed a good deal of patience, too.

At last Mother said to Father, "Now, dear, if you're quite rested, and
quite comfy, we