That afternoon, as they drove along, Billy was plunged in a deep
reverie.
"Oh, I got the point all right," he said finally. "An' yet I
ain't satisfied. Of course, they wasn't a white sparrow, but by
getting up early an' attendin' to things he'd been slack about
before--oh, I got it all right. An' yet, Saxon, if that's what a
farmer's life means, I don't want to find no moon valley. Life
ain't hard work. Daylight to dark, hard at it--might just as well
be in the city. What's the difference? Al' the time you've got to
yourself is for sleepin', an' when you're sleepin' you're not
enjoyin' yourself. An' what's it matter where you sleep, you're
deado. Might as well be dead an' done with it as work your head
off that way. I'd sooner stick to the road, an' shoot a deer an'
catch a trout once in a while, an' lie on my back in the shade,
an' laugh with you an' have fun with you, an' . . . an' go
swimmin'. An' I 'm a willin' worker, too. But they's all the
difference in the world between a decent amount of work an'
workin' your head off."
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