“I see!” he cried, “I see!
“You mean you cut the wood and plowed the field,
From your hard labor all this beauty grew,
To you is due the richness of the yield;
You have some claim, ’tis true.”
“Not so,” said I, with manner very cool,
And tossed my purse into the air and caught it;
“Do I look like a laborer, you fool?
It’s mine because I bought it!”
Again he looked as if I talked in Greek,