The only fun he had. I've heard them say, though, They found a way to put a stop to it. He was before my time—-I never saw him; But the pen stayed exactly as it was There in the upper chamber in the ell, A sort of catch-all full of attic clutter. I often think of the smooth hickory bars. It got so I would say--you know, half fooling—- "It's time I took my turn upstairs in jail"—- Just as you will till it becomes a habit. No wonder I was glad to get away. Mind you, I waited till Len said the word. I didn't want the blame if things went wrong. I was glad though, no end, when we moved out, And I looked to be happy, and I was, As I said, for a while—-but I don't know! Somehow the change wore out like a prescription. And there's more to it than just window-views And living by a lake. I'm past such help—- Unless Len took the notion, which he won't, And I won't ask him—-it's not sure enough. I 'spose I've got to go the road I'm going: Other folks have to, and why shouldn't I? I almost think if I could do like you, Drop everything and live out on the ground—- But it might be, come night, I shouldn't like it, Or a long rain. I should soon get enough, And be glad of a good roof overhead. I've lain awake thinking of you, I'll warrant, More than you have yourself, some of these nights. The wonder was the tents weren't snatched away From over you as you lay in your beds. I haven't courage for a risk like that. Bless you, of course, you're keeping me from work, But the thing of it is, I need to _be_ kept. There's work enough to do—-there's always that; But behind's behind. The worst that you can do Is set me back a little more behind. I shan't catch up in this world, anyway. I'd rather you'd not go unless you must. THE SELF-SEEKER "Willis, I didn't want you here to-day: The lawyer's coming for the company. I'm going to sell my soul, or, rather, feet. Five hundred dollars for the pair, you know." "With you the feet have nearly been the soul; And if you're going to sell them to the devil, I want to see you do it. When's he coming?" "I half suspect you knew, and came on purpose To try to help me drive a better bargain." "Well, if it's true! Yours are no common feet. The lawyer don't know what it is he's buying: So many miles you might have walked you won't walk. You haven't run your forty orchids down. What does he think?—-How _are_ the blessed feet? The doctor's sure you're going to walk again?" "He thinks I'll hobble. It's both legs and feet." "They must be terrible—-I mean to look at." "I haven't dared to look at them uncovered. Through the bed blankets I remind myself Of a starfish laid out with rigid points." "The wonder is it hadn't been your head."