"A mighty rickety brother."
"Stop the abuse, Robby.
At this moment he is the love-" liest car I know." "Come over here," said I. "What do you want then?" "Difficult to say."
We lay for some time side by side in the meadow.
The wind blew warm and soft from the wood.
It smelt of pines and wild flowers.
"Robby," asked Pat after a while, "what flowers are those over there by the stream?"
"Anemones," I replied without looking up.
"But darling!
Those aren't anemones, anemones are much smaller; besides they only flower in spring."
"True," said I. "It's lady's smock."
She shook her head.
"Lady's smock I know.
This looks quite different."
"Then it's hemlock."
"But Robby!
Hemlock is white, not red."
"Then I don't know.
So far I've always got through with those three flower names, when I've been asked.
They've always believed one of them."
She laughed.
"What a pity.
If I'd known I would have been satisfied with anemones."
"Hemlock," said I. "I've always had most success with hemlock."
She sat up.
"That is very encouraging.
Are you often asked, then?"
"Not too often.
And under quite other circumstances."
She propped her arms on the ground.
"It really is a shame the way man runs about the earth and yet knows nothing at all about it.
Not even a few names."
"Don't grieve," said I, "a much greater shame is that man doesn't even know what he runs about the earth for.
And a few names more or less won't help there much."
"So you say.
But I believe you only say it out of idleness."
I turned over.
"Of course.
But not enough has been thought about idleness.
It is the foundation of all happiness and the end of all philosophy.
Come, lie down here again. Man lies down much too little.
He stands and sits about all the time.
It's not good for animal comfort.
Only when a man lies down is he quite at peace with himself."
A car came humming along and drove past.
"Baby Mercedes," said I without sitting up. "Four-cylinder."
"Here comes another," replied Pat.
"Yes, I can hear it.
A Renault.
Has it a radiator like a pig's nose?"