"
"All of which I suppose is meant to reflect on a poor devil who
doesn't do things and doesn't amount to anything?"
"I never said so."
"See here," said Donald whimsically, "for two weeks you have been
getting me _not_ to do things. When I think of all the things I have
promised you, I can feel my hair turning white. Having polished me off
on the don'ts, you aren't going to begin on the do's, are you?"
"Indeed I am. Does Doctor Queerington really think you could be a
writer?"
"He has been after me about it ever since I was a youngster. I'm
always scribbling at something, but there is nothing in it. Besides,"
he added with a smile, "I'm going to be a farmer."
Miss Lady threw back her head and laughed:
"He wants to be a farmer
And with the farmers stand
The hay seed on his forehead
And a rake within his hand."
"Oh! Don Morley, one minute it's the Orient, the next it's literature,
and the next a farm; you don't know what you want!"
"Yes, I do, too," he caught her bridle and brought the horses close
together. "I know perfectly what I want, and so do you. Haven't I told
you four times a day for two weeks?"
She looked away to the far horizon where a bank of formidable clouds
was forming:
"Oh, we all think we want things one day and forget about them the
next.
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