Nobody can call me a bit of a shirk;
I don’t ask for fine clothes or frequent play-days,
For I know father’s money has plenty of ways:
But when I’ve done as well as I can,
They might treat me as though I’d some day be a man.
I’m so tired of the song father always has sung:
“I did better than that when I was young.”
The Wind in a Frolic.
The wind one morning sprang up from sleep,
Saying, “Now for a frolic! now for a leap!