"No," says she; "there's a lot of things worth while more than that. These brick-and-stone houses are the trenches. They may be hard to take. But back of them lies the country, and it's the country that's worth while. You found it—over on the other side of the ward. For me—don't mind if I haven't found it just yet."
"Ain't you happy, sis?" says he.
"No," says she, quiet like; "I'm not."
He pats her on the back.
"Get out of doors," says he. "Do something—work at something! Look upwards and outside, and don't get to looking inwards," says he. "That ain't the way. Think what's in the fields beyond."
"Life, dad," says she, slow; and it seemed to me like she was sad. "Life!"
"Life?" says he. "Sis, what do you mean? Tell your old dad, can't you?"
She told him, then. She put her haid down on his neck.
"Oh," says she, "it's all right for you two—you've got something to do—you can work and fight; but what can I do? What is there for me to do in all the world? And you tried so hard to make me happy!"
"And you ain't happy?" says her pa.