“Aye.” He sat down beside me and picked a peanut out of the basin, cracked it, and tossed the nuts into his mouth. “Brianna says Dr. Seuss made a good many books. Have ye read them all, Sassenach?” He pronounced it “Soyce,” in correct German, and I laughed.

“Oh, yes. Many times. Bree had the whole set—or at least as many as were published then. I suppose she and Roger might have bought more for Jem and Mandy, if Dr. Seuss—the Americans say his name ‘Soos,’ by the way—if he went on writing. I don’t know how long he lived—will live,” I corrected. “He was still at it in 1968.”

He nodded, a little wistful.

“I wish I could see them,” he said. “But maybe Brianna will remember some o’ the rhymes, at least.”

“Ask Jem,” I suggested. “Bree says he’s read to Mandy since she was a baby, and he has an excellent memory.” I laughed, thinking of some of the Seuss illustrations. “Ask Bree if she can draw Horton the Elephant or Yertle the Turtle for you, from memory.”

“Yertle?” His face lighted with humor. “That’s no a real name, is it?”

“No, but it rhymes with ‘turtle.’” I cracked another nut and tossed the bits of shell into the grass.

“So does Myrtle,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but Yertle is a boy. No female turtle would have done what he did.”

Jamie was diverted; he paused with his hand in the basin.

“What did he do?”

“Made all of the turtles in Sala-ma-Sond build themselves into a tower so he could be King of all that he saw by sitting on top of them. It’s an allegory about arrogance and pride. Not that females aren’t capable of those emotions—just that they wouldn’t do anything so easily illustrated.”

Jamie picked up a handful of peanuts and crushed them absentmindedly, nodding.

“Aye? And what sort of allegory is yon Green Eggs and Ham?” he demanded.

“I think it’s intended to urge children not to be fussy about what they eat,” I said dubiously. “Or not to be afraid of trying new th— What are you doing?” For he’d dropped his handful of crushed peanuts into the basin, shells and all.

“Helping you,” he said, taking another handful. “You’ll be about that all day, Sassenach, doing it one at a time.” He crushed the second handful and dropped it, debris and all, into the basin.

“But picking all the shells out of there will—”

“We’ll winnow them,” he interrupted, turning and pointing with his chin toward the distant flank of Roan Mountain. “See the wind walkin’ down through the trees? There’s a storm a-boil.”