"Of course I do; certingly I do."
"Madge," I called through the kitchen window, "please start the heater and get water ready for a bath. And please lay out Peter's Sunday suit; he wants to lend it to a brother man."
"Brother man, indeed!" ejaculated Peter, and he went on digging. He is getting a bed ready for next spring's daffodils.
"Peter," I said with some severity, "I want to see if I can respect your social convictions; this is the first chance I have had to test them."
"Yes, Miss," he answered, "but I don't see what that has to do with me Sunday suit."
Not a sound came from the garden; I kept Don with me,—not even he should break that moment. Then I told Peter who had come, how the lovers had lost each other in that mad rush for safety, and how, for days, I had been trying to find this man, for I was very sure that the right man had come. Peter was spellbound, nor could he dig a stroke while I was talking. Then he began to work, and he worked furiously, as I have not seen him since he came.
"It's quite right, 'm, about the suit," he said presently.
I worked for perhaps an hour, while Peter dug like one inspired. Madge heated water and got towels ready, peering out curiously to see why. A touch of evening chill came into the air; the rooks began to go home, and filmy rose-flushed clouds trailed over the sky at sunset. Finally I shook the dirt off my hands, finding myself very stiff as I tried to stand.
"Peter," I asked, "what shall I do next?"
"I think, 'm, I'd start making a wedding cake," he answered, after due reflection.