"Are you never angry, Peter?"
"Seldom, I hope."
"I should like to see you so—just once." Finding nothing to say in answer to this, I smoked my negro-head pipe and stared at the moon, which was looking down at us through a maze of tree-trunks and branches.
"Referring to horseshoes," said Charmian at last, "are you content to be a blacksmith all your days?"
"Yes, I think I am."
"Were you never ambitious, then?"
"Ambition is like rain, breaking itself upon what it falls on—at least, so Bacon says, and—"
"Oh, bother Bacon! Were you never ambitious, Peter?"
"I was a great dreamer."
"A dreamer!" she exclaimed with fine scorn; "are dreamers ever ambitious?"