"Oh, just walking. Why?"

"Because I've been huntin' and huntin' for you.

But, oh, dear me,
You're worse'n a flea,
So what's the use of talkin'?
You always say,
As you did to-day,
I've just been out a-walkin'!"

"But what did you want me for?"

"I didn't want you. Your pa wanted you. But, then, for that matter,
he's always wantin' you. Any time, if you look at him real good an'
hard enough to get his attention, he'll stare a minute, an' then say:
'Where's Keith?' An' when he gets to the other shore, I suppose he'll
do it all the more."

"Oh, no, he won't--not if it's talking poetry. Father never talks
poetry. What makes you talk it so much, Susan? Nobody else does."

Susan laughed good-humoredly.

"Lan' sakes, child, I don't know, only I jest can't help it. Why,
everything inside of me jest swings along to a regular tune--kind of
keeps time, like. It's always been so. Why, Keithie, boy, it's been my
joy--There, you see--jest like that! I didn't know that was comin'. It
jest--jest came. That's all. I can make a rhyme 'most any time. Oh, of
course, most generally, when I write real poems, I have to sit down