Page:Jim of the Hills.djvu/71

"A worker's hand," says she, reel fine,
"An' marked with toil; but so is mine.
We're just two toilers; let us shake.
An' be good friends—for labour's sake."

I didn't dare to say no more,
For fear of what she'd take me for—
But just Good bye, an' turns away,
Bustin' with things I had to say.
I don't know how I got right home.
The wonder was I didn't roam
Off in the scrub, an' dream on there
Of her with sunlight in her hair.

At home I looks around the place.
An' sees the dirt's a fair disgrace;
So takes an' tidies up a bit,
An' has a shave; an' then I sit
Beside my fire to have a think.
But my old dog won't sleep a wink;
He fools, an' whines, an' nudges me.
Then all at once I thinks of tea.

I beg his pardon with a smile,
An', talkin' to him all the while,
I get it ready, tellin' him
About that girl; but, "Shut up, Jim!"