“So we are,” said Peter, confidentially, “but we always have three pennyworth of halfpennies for tea whenever Mother sells a story or a poem or anything.”“Oh,” said the Station Master, “so your Mother writes stories, does she?”“The beautifulest you ever read,” said Peter.“...
It was fine and hot; the trees had just put on their most brilliant green; the lilac and laburnum were out. The fields, yellow with buttercups and scarlet34 with poppies, were like impressionist pictures of the newest school. After the slow spring and the bleak fir-tree-clad country of ...