human
I forgive you, now, Primrose, said he,
gpt
Well, Mr. Bright, answered Primrose, wiping her eyes, and giving him another of her mischievous smiles,
human
Or from the back of Pegasus, replied Eustace, laughing.
gpt
Don't you think that I succeeded pretty well in catching that wonderful pony?
human
It was so like one of your madcap pranks! cried Primrose, clapping her hands.
gpt
I think I see you now on his back, two miles high, and with your head downward! It is well that you have not really an opportunity of trying your horsemanship on any wilder steed than our sober Davy, or Old Hundred.
human
For my part, I wish I had Pegasus here, at this moment, said the student.
gpt
I would mount him forthwith, and gallop about the country, within a circumference of a few miles, making literary calls on my brother-authors. Dr. Dewey would be within my reach, at the foot of Taconic. In Stockbridge, yonder, is Mr. James, conspicuous to all the world on his mountain-pile of history and romance. Longfellow, I believe, is not yet at the Ox-bow, else the winged horse would neigh at the sight of him. But, here in Lenox, I should find our most truthful novelist, who has made the scenery and life of Berkshire all her own. On the hither side of Pittsfield sits Herman Melville, shaping out the gigantic conception of his 'White Whale,' while the gigantic shape of Graylock looms upon him from his study-window. Another bound of my flying steed would bring me to the door of Holmes, whom I mention last, because Pegasus would certainly unseat me, the next minute, and claim the poet as his rider.
human
Have we not an author for our next neighbor? asked Primrose.
gpt
That silent man, who lives in the old red house, near Tanglewood Avenue, and whom we sometimes meet, with two children at his side, in the woods or at the lake. I think I have heard of his having written a poem, or a romance, or an arithmetic, or a school-history, or some other kind of a book.
human
Hush, Primrose, hush! exclaimed Eustace, in a thrilling whisper, and putting his finger on his lip.
gpt
Not a word about that man, even on a hill-top! If our babble were to reach his ears, and happen not to please him, he has but to fling a quire or two of paper into the stove, and you, Primrose, and I, and Periwinkle, Sweet Fern, Squash-Blossom, Blue Eye, Huckleberry, Clover, Cowslip, Plantain, Milkweed, Dandelion, and Buttercup,--yes, and wise Mr. Pringle, with his unfavorable criticisms on my legends, and poor Mrs. Pringle, too,--would all turn to smoke, and go whisking up the funnel! Our neighbor in the red house is a harmless sort of person enough, for aught I know, as concerns the rest of the world; but something whispers to me that he has a terrible power over ourselves, extending to nothing short of annihilation.
human
And would Tanglewood turn to smoke, as well as we? asked Periwinkle, quite appalled at the threatened destruction.
gpt
And what would become of Ben and Bruin?
human
Tanglewood would remain, replied the student,
gpt
What nonsense you are talking!