The First Quarrel 'W AIT a little,' you say, 'you are sure it 'll all come right,' But the boy was born i' trouble, an' looks so wan an' so white: Wait! an' once I ha' waited -- I hadn't to wait for long. Now I wait, wait, wait for Harry. -- No, no, you are doing me wrong! Harry and I were married: the boy can hold up his head, The boy was born in wedlock, but after my man was dead; I ha' work'd for him fifteen years, an' I work an' I wait to the end. I am all alone in the world, an' you are my only friend. II. Doctor, if you can wait, I'll tell you the tale o' my life. When Harry an' I were children, he call'd me his own little wife; I was happy when I was with him, an' sorry when he was away. An' when we play'd together, I loved him better than play; He workt me the daisy chain -- he made me the cowslip ball, He fought the boys that were rude, an' I loved him better than all. Passionate girl tho' I was, an' often at home in disgrace, I never could quarrel with Harry -- I had but to look in his face. III. There was a farmer in Dorset of Harry's kin, that had need Of a good stout lad at his farm; he sent, an' the father agreed; So Harry was bound to the