Page:Shingle-short-Baughan-1908.djvu/175

 Woftly, in bed, the nights when Andrew’d been, And ridden out again; and now it looks As though I grudged to work for her. I don’t! It isn’t that:—she knows it isn’t that, Whatever Andrew thinks. But—Oh dear me, She doesn’t understand! “Just wait awhile, Janet, my dear,” she’ll say, ever so kindly, “Bide here a bit, and help me with my home, Until” (here wakes the dimple in her cheek) “Your own comes calling; then you’ll understand. Just wait!” (I like that “just,” Liz! Just as if Waiting were not the hardest work in the world!)— Oh, well—she means, of course, till I get married. Which I don’t want....that is, I mean, not yet, Not till I’ve seen things....Not Jim Carson, ever! Paddock for life, seen through a different grating? No, thanks!....She’s happy this way, so she thinks This is the one way to be happy.—’Tisn’t!

Then Andrew— We’d been mustering, last week; ’Twas nearly dark, and we were all but in, Skirting the orchard-fence, when out he jumps With, “Janet! life’s no joke. Take it from me It’s hard” (poor An.!), “there’s dangers, whips of ’em, More than you know, and never a glut of kindness. Best take it easy while you can, my girl; You earn your home here, no mistake about it” (He held the gate; we’d got to it, at last!) “But, work’s work, anywhere; while nowhere else Is home. It’s restful, snug,” (we pass’d the hives) “And safe....good girls are precious!.... and none so rough,