“Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer true,
I ‘m half-crazy, all for the love of you.
It won’t be a stylish marriage,
For I can’t afford a carriage,
But you’ll look sweet-”
The words would be lost as the tricycle lumbered into the sunshine between the hedges.
Kay used to say, when she was very little, that the gladness went into her feet when she was happy. On these expeditions it went everywhere, into her feet, her eyes, her lips, her hands. She did the things that boys do, and yet she had the sweetness of a girl. She ran like a boy and she swam like a boy. She was a darling and a puzzle to Peter; he could never make her out. He was always trying to put her dearness into words and always failing.
“Your voice is like the laughter of birds,” he said. “But why do you love me so much, Peter?”
He slanted his eyes. “Because I borned you.” He knew better than that now.
Sometimes they spoke of their cousins.