think they both fell asleep on the instant. I got on the front seat
and took the reins. I didn't let Peg go more quickly than a walk as
I wanted to spare her sore foot.

My, what a morning that was after the rain! The road ran pretty
close to the shore, and every now and then I could catch a glimpse
of the water. The air was keen--not just the ordinary, unnoticed air
that we breathe in and out and don't think about, but a sharp and
tingling essence, as strong in the nostrils as camphor or ammonia.
The sun seemed focussed upon Parnassus, and we moved along the white
road in a flush of golden light. The flat fronds of the cedars
swayed gently in the salty air, and for the first time in ten
years, I should think, I began amusing myself by selecting words to
describe the goodness of the morning. I even imagined myself writing
a description of it, as if I were Andrew or Thoreau. The crazy
little Professor had inoculated me with his literary bug, I guess.

And then I did a dishonourable thing. Just by chance I put my hand
into the little pocket beside the seat where Mifflin kept a few odds
and ends. I meant to have another look at that card of his with the
poem on it. And there I found a funny, battered little notebook,
evidently forgotten. On the cover was written, in ink, "Thoughts
on the Present Discontents." That title seemed vaguely familiar. I
seemed to recall something of the kind from my school days--more
than twenty years ago, goodness me! Of course if I had been
honourable I wouldn't have looked into it. But in a kind of
quibbling self-justification I recalled that I had bought Parnassus
and all it contained, "lock, stock, barrel and bung" as Andrew used
to say. And so....