I would not grieve her for the world,
And she would grieve to see me cry.
She gives me everything she can,
And that is everything I want;
And I should be a wicked child,
To ask for more than she could grant.
But, Jane, from what you say yourself,
You're never happy, and your pride
Is such, that, with this finery,
You never are quite satisfied.
JANE.
But what if there should be a ball,
And you should have a chance to go,
Where every one is richly dressed,
Would you appear among them so?
MARY.
A ball! I never went to one;
I do not care for scenes so gay;
But with the birds and trees and flowers,
I can be happy any day.
When dear papa comes home at night,
I'm joyous as a little bird,
For, after tea, he always tells
Something amusing he has heard.
