Classic Poem

He wheeled the barrow down the plank,
And tipped the sand into the pit;
Then stood a moment, ere he turned,
To try and get the rights of it—

To get it clear in his own head,
The why and wherefor of the change
That had come over Eleanor
These last few days, and made her strange.

Sometimes 'twould seem she didn't care
At all for him now: sharp and short
She'd answer—she, who'd never been,
At any time, the snappy sort.

'Twas queer … When, as he stood and gazed,
There flashed like wildfire through the air
The happy truth of it—that he
No longer was her only care!