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So Peter had a half day in the country and enjoyed it very much. He
looked over Mrs. Costell's flower-garden, in which she spent almost her
whole time, and chatted with her about it. He saw the beautiful stables,
and their still more beautiful occupants. He liked the couple very much.
Both were simple and silent people, of little culture, but it seemed to
Peter that the atmosphere had a gentle, homely tone that was very
pleasing. As he got into the light buggy, he said to Mrs. Costell:
"I'll get the seed of that mottled gillyflower from my mother as soon as
possible. Perhaps you'll let me bring it up myself?"
"Do," she said. "Come again, whether you get the seed or not."
After they had started, Mr. Costell said: "I'm glad you asked that. Mrs.
Costell doesn't take kindly to many of the men who are in politics with
me, but she liked you, I could see."
Peter spoke twice in the next week in small halls in his ward. He had
good audiences, and he spoke well, if simply.
"There ain't no fireworks in his stuff," said the ward satirist.


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