At the present moment they were engaged in a spirited discussion, which was not uncommon, or, to be more exact, Peter was in the act of laying down the law to Sophy, this being one of his favorite pastimes.
“You are a perfect little goose, Sophy! I can’t imagine what you are thinking of. A wheelwright! I told you the other day what I was going to do. Have you forgotten already? Your memory isn’t worth a cent. But what else can you expect of a girl?”
Sophy became visibly depressed.
“I wish I could remember, Peter,” she said, searching in the depths of her memory for Peter’s words of wisdom too precious to be lost. “Did you tell me long ago?”
“Not long ago, at all. It was the day you got scared in the woods. If you remember, don’t say anything, for Vic is here, and you know it’s a secret. Don’t you know the thing that’s going to have nothing about girls? Well, no matter. All the less chance of the secret’s getting out if you’ve forgotten it. What do you suppose Sophy wants me to be, when I’m grown up, Vic?”
“I can’t imagine,” said Victoria. “A clergyman?”
“No, indeed. The most ridiculous thing you ever heard of: a wheelwright!”
“A wheelwright?” repeated Victoria. “Where in the world did you get that idea, child?”
Sophy looked ready to cry. She felt that it was hard, indeed, that even her beloved Vic should question her sagacity.
“I only meant because it’s so safe,” she faltered. “I do want Peter to do something he won’t be killed in. I didn’t think about the clergyman. He could be that, of course, and not be killed. But my history lesson this morning was all about wars and battles, and I felt so worried about Peter, in case he should be a soldier or a sailor when he grows up. The soldiers get shot, and the sailors get drownded, and I was thinking of the safest thing he could be, and it was a wheelwright. They just have to mend wagons and carriages; and Peter likes to mend things up in the shop, you know. It is safer than a blacksmith, for a horse might kick a blacksmith, you know, and perhaps kill him.”