Page:Shingle-short-Baughan-1908.djvu/177

 That’s right: but—Janet? Cook? Housekeeper? Nonsense! I could be work’d to death that way, and die Only half-used—No, I’ve a whole use, somewhere, If I could only find it. Not just play— I don’t want only pleasure—I must own, I’d like a little more, but “Life’s no joke!” No, I should just hope not! I value jokes, But I know, quite as well as Andrew does, You can’t live on puff-pastry. Life’s—Oh, well, Something big, anyway! “It’s hard.” All right! Let it be hard! I want it hard! I want Something to grab, and grip and grapple with, Something—Oh, tough! Here’s it’s like fighting feathers. “It’s dangerous?” Yes, I daresay; what of that? Everything is, that’s anything; take riding. “More than I know?” That’s it. I want to know! Dangers don’t matter, if you’re brave enough. And other girls get on: Lil Tracy, now, And Cousin Con:—I beat them both at school. “Content?” I will be, Andrew, when I’ve been Contented, when I’ve had enough! but, here, Oh, dear! there’s not enough. “Home?” for my body; Prison, for my spirit—Ah, forgive me, Liz! —Oh, I know all he says. I know the place Is lovely; heavenly, on a day like this, Yes, yes! but then, the thing you’re always seeing, Well,....you don’t see it always! “Safe, and restful?”