BOY

What is your poem?

GIRL

I saw a purple bird Go up against the sky And it went up and up And round about did fly.

BOY

I saw it die.

GIRL

That doesn't scan.

BOY

Oh, that doesn't matter.

GIRL

Do you like my poem?

BOY

Birds aren't purple.

GIRL

My bird was.

BOY

Oh!

GIRL

Oh, you don't like my poem!

BOY

Yes, I do.

GIRL

No, you don't; you think it horrid.

BOY

No. I don't.

GIRL

Yes, you do. Why didn't you say you liked it? It is the only poem I ever made.

BOY

I do like it. I do like it.

GIRL

You don't, you don't!

BOY

Don't be angry. I'll write it on the door for you.

GIRL

You'll write it?

BOY

Yes, I can write it. My father taught me. I'll write it with my lump of gold. It makes a yellow mark on the iron door.

GIRL

Oh, do write it! I would like to see it written like real poetry.

[_The Boy begins to write. The Girl watches._

FIRST SENTRY

You see, we'll be fighting again soon.

SECOND SENTRY

Only a little war. We never have more than a little war with the hill-folk.

FIRST SENTRY

When a man goes to fight, the curtains of the G.o.ds wax thicker than ever before between his eyes and the future; he may go to a great or to a little war.

SECOND SENTRY

There can only be a little war with the hill-folk.

FIRST SENTRY