Part 3

"Now listen, Ma," said Pa to her, "these birds are mighty rare. I know a lot of men who'd pay a heap to get a pair. But it's against the law to sell this splendid sort of game, And if you bought 'em you would have to use a different name. It isn't every couple has a pair to eat between 'em." "If you got any partridge there," says Ma, "you'll have to clean 'em."

"Whenever kings want something fine, it's partridge that they eat, And millionaires prefer 'em, too, to any sort of meat. About us everywhere to-night are folks who'd think it fine If on a brace of partridge they could just sit down to dine. They've got a turkey skinned to death, they're sweeter than a chicken." "If that's what you've brought home," says Ma, "you'll have to do the pickin'."

And then Pa took the paper off and showed Ma what he had. "There, look at those two beauties! Don't they start you feelin' glad? An' ain't your mouth a-waterin' to think how fine they'll be When you've cooked 'em up for dinner, one for you an' one for me?" But Ma just turned her nose up high, an' said, when she had seen 'em, "You'll never live to eat 'em if you wait for me to clean 'em."

_The Making of a Friend_

We nodded as we passed each day And smiled and went along our way; I knew his name, and he knew mine, But neither of us made a sign That we possessed a common tie; We barely spoke as we passed by.

How fine he was I never guessed. The splendid soul within his breast I never saw. From me were hid The many kindly deeds he did. His gentle ways I didn't know, Or I'd have claimed him long ago.

Then trouble came to me one day, And he was first to come and say The cheering words I longed to hear. He offered help, and standing near I felt our lives in sorrow blend-- My neighbor had become my friend.

How many smiles from day to day I've missed along my narrow way; How many kindly words I've lost, What joy has my indifference cost? This glorious friend that now I know, Would have been friendly years ago.

_Stick to It_

Stick to it, boy, Through the thick and the thin of it! Work for the joy That is born of the din of it. Failures beset you, But don't let them fret you; Dangers are lurking, But just keep on working. If it's worth while and you're sure of the right of it, Stick to it, boy, and make a real fight of it!

Stick to it, lad, Be not frail and afraid of it; Stand to the gad For the man to be made of it. Deaf to the sneering And blind to the jeering, Willing to master The present disaster, Stick to it, lad, through the trial and test of it, Patience and courage will give you the best of it.

Stick to it, youth, Be not sudden to fly from it; This is the truth, Triumph may not far lie from it Dark is the morning Before the sun's dawning, Battered and sore of it Bear a bit more of it, Stick to it, even though blacker than ink it is, Victory's nearer, perhaps, than you think it is!

_Proud Father_

There's a smile on the face of the mother to-day, The furrows of pain have been scattered away, Her eyes tell a story of wondrous delight As she looks at the baby who came through the night. It's plain she's as happy and proud as can be, But you ought to see me!

The nurse wears her cap in its jauntiest style, And she says: "Oh, my dear, there's a baby worth while! She's the pink of perfection, as sweet as a rose, And I never have seen such a cute little nose." Were it proper for nurses she'd dance in her glee, But you ought to see me!

Bud's eyes are ablaze with the glory of joy, And he has forgotten he'd asked for a boy. He stands by her crib and he touches her cheek And would bring all the kids on the street for a peek. Oh, the pride in his bearing is something to see, But you ought to see me!

You may guess that the heart of the mother is glad, But for arrogant happiness gaze on the dad. For the marvelous strut and the swagger of pride, For the pomp of conceit and the smile satisfied, For joy that's expressed in the highest degree, Take a good look at me!

_The Mortgage and the Man_

This is the tale of a mortgage and a dead man and his son, A father who left to his only child a duty that must be done. And the neighbors said as they gathered round in the neighbor's curious way: "Too bad, too bad that he left his boy so heavy a debt to pay."

Day by day through the years that came, the mortgage held him fast-- Straight and true to his task he went, and he paid the debt at last; And his arm grew strong and his eye kept bright, and although he never knew, The thing that fashioned a man of him was the task he had to do.

Honor and fortune crowned his brow till the day he came to die, But he said: "My boy shall never work against such odds as I. I have planned his years, I have made them safe, I have paid his journey through." And the boy looked out on a world wherein there was nothing for him to do.

His hands grew soft and his eyes went dull and his cheeks turned ashy pale, For strength which isn't employed by day, with idleness grows stale. "He is not the man that his father was," the neighbors often said, "And better for him had he been left to work for his meat and bread."

Oh, the race dies out and the clan departs, and feeble grows the son When they come at last to the dreadful day when all of the work is done. For manhood dies on the roads of ease where the skies are ever blue, And each of us needs, if we shall grow strong, some difficult thing to do.

_The Training of Jimmy McBride_

Jimmy McBride was a common sense lad, The son of a common sense mother and dad Who had borne him and bred him to labor. He'd been taught what a common sense lad understands, That the Lord in His wisdom had given him hands For handling a pick or a sabre.

"Your feet are for walking," his father once said, "To see with, God gave you two eyes in your head, And your mouth is for eating and drinking; And that you'll remember I'm making it plain, You've also been given what men call a brain, And the brain is put in there for thinking.

"Now you've all the equipment the greatest possess, And some men have risen to glory with less, So don't be afraid, but go to it; If it's honest, and useful, and ought to be done, Don't think it beneath you, but jump in, my son-- Go straight to your duty and do it."

When Jimmy came home with the dirt on his face They never once said: "It's a shame and disgrace! Poor boy, you are worn out and weary!" No pity for Jimmy his labors inspired. His old father said: "It is sweet to be tired, It makes the home-coming so cheery."

His old mother said with the pride in her eye, "There's nothing like work to put flavor in pie. Come in and sit down to your dinner." And they said to themselves when he'd gone to his bed, "He's earning his way and he's forging ahead-- Our Jimmy McBride is a winner."

And when their old age came upon them at last, No touch of regret stole the joy from the past, Nor envy of happier neighbor. And they thanked the good Lord who had sent them their Jim That they'd had the wisdom in dealing with him To teach him the value of labor.

_The Scoutmaster_

There isn't any pay for you, you serve without reward; The boys who tramp the fields with you but little could afford; And yet your pay is richer far than men who toil for gold, For in a dozen different ways your service shall be told.

You'll read it in the faces of a troop of growing boys, You'll read it in the pleasure of a dozen manly joys; And down the distant future--you will surely read it then, Emblazoned through the service of a band of loyal men.

Five years of willing labor and of brothering a troop; Five years of trudging highways, with the Indian cry and whoop; Five years of camp fires burning, not alone for pleasure's sake, But the future generation which these boys are soon to make.

They have no gold to give you, but when age comes on to you They'll give you back the splendid things you taught them how to do; They'll give you rich contentment and a thrill of honest pride And you'll see your nation prosper, and you'll all be satisfied.

_The Way of a Wife_

She wasn't hungry, so she said. A salad and a cup of tea Was all she felt that she could eat, but it was different with me. "I'm rather hungry," I replied: "if you don't mind, I think I'll take Some oysters to begin with and a good old-fashioned sirloin steak."

Now wives are curious in this; to make the statement blunt and straight, There's nothing tempts their appetites like food upon another's plate; And when those oysters six appeared she looked at them and said to me, "Just let me try one, will you, dear?" and right away she swallowed three.

On came the steak, and promptly she exclaimed: "Oh my, that looks so good! I think I'd like a bit of it." The game is one I understood. I cut her off a healthy piece and never whimpered when she said: "Now just a few potatoes, dear, and also let me share your bread."

She wasn't hungry! She'd refused the food I had been glad to buy, But on the meal which came for me, I know she turned a hungry eye. She never cares for much to eat, she's dainty in her choice, I'll state, But she gets ravenous enough to eat whatever's on my plate.

_Beneath the Dirt_

He'd been delivering a load of coal, and a five-ton truck he steered; He wasn't a pretty sight to see with his four days' growth of beard. His clothes were such as a coal man wears, and the fine folks passing by Would have scorned the touch of his dirty hands and the look in his weary eye.

He rattled and banged along the road, sick of his job, no doubt, When in front of his truck, from a hidden spot, a dog and a child dashed out And he couldn't stop, so he made one leap from the height of his driver's seat And he caught the child with those dirty hands and swept her from the street.

Over his legs went the heavy wheels, and they picked him up for dead, And the rich man's wife placed her sable coat as a pillow for his head. And black as he was, the rich man said: "He shall travel home with me." And he sat by his side in the limousine and was proud of his company.

You may walk in pride in your garments fine, you may judge by the things of show, But what's deep in the breast of the man you scorn is something you cannot know. And you'd kiss the hand of the dirtiest man that ever the world has known If to save the life of the child you love, he had bravely risked his own.

_The Out-Doors Man_

He must come back a better man, Beneath the summer bronze and tan, Who turns his back on city strife To neighbor with the trees; He must be stronger for the fight And see with clearer eye the right, Who fares beneath the open sky And welcomes every breeze.

The man who loves all living things Enough to go where Nature flings Her glories everywhere about, And dwell with them awhile, Must be, when he comes back once more, A little better than before, A little surer of his faith And readier to smile.

He never can be wholly bad Who seeks the sunshine and is glad To hear a songbird's melody Or wade a laughing stream; Nor worse than when he went away Will he return at close of day Who's chummed with happy birds and trees, And taken time to dream.

_A Book and a Pipe_

Give me a book and my cozy chair and a pipe of old perique And the wind may howl and I shall not care that the night is cold and bleak, For I'll follow my friend of the printed page wherever he leads me on, I'll follow him back to a vanished age and the joys of a life that's gone.

I'll stand with him on a brigantine with the salt wind in my face, I'll hear him shout when the whale is seen and share in the stirring chase, And I'll hear him say as the gulls fly by and round us overhead: "Every bird up there with its ghastly cry is the soul of a sailor dead."

I'll go with him where the pole star gleams and the arctic nights are long, I'll go with him to his land of dreams away from the surging throng, I'll stand with him on the battle line where the sky with flame turns red, I'll follow this faithful friend of mine wherever he wants to tread.

Oh, whether it be adventure grim or the calm of a noble mind, Or a sea to sail and a ship to trim or a pearl of truth to find, Grant me an hour in my easy chair and a pipe full of old perique And there's ever a friendly book up there that can furnish the joy I seek.

_The Time I Played with Vardon_

The time I played with Vardon, I was surely on my game, The gallery was greeting every shot with loud acclaim. I was driving right with Harry, and was getting home in two, And every trick that Vardon tried, I showed that I could do; I had the Briton worried--I could tell it from his look, For I was doing everything he'd printed in his book.

I'd held him level several holes, and then the crowd began, In a fever of excitement, to applaud me to a man; Men were whispering together, "Eddie's surely right today-- He is just as good as Vardon! Oh, it's great to watch him play!" Then Vardon tried a long one, but his ball just missed the cup, And I dropped my twenty-footer for a birdie and was up!

Nip-and-tuck out there we battled, and I ventured soon to guess If I could keep it going, I'd make Mr. Vardon press; He was very nice about it, but when I'd got home in two I noticed he was lunging like I often used to do. Then he dubbed a shot completely, when I'd played a perfect cleek, And I whispered to my caddie: "Vardon sometimes takes a peek!"

I was just one up on Vardon on the good old eighteenth tee, And a half was all I needed for my greatest victory. I was confident of winning--calm and cool about it, too; I wasn't going to falter, for I knew what I could do. I looked the distance over, then I made a perfect stroke-- But just then the missus shook me, and confound it! I awoke!

_Teach Them of the Flag_

Teach the children of the Flag, Let them know the joy it holds In its sun-kissed rippling folds; Don't let patriotism lag: Train them so that they will love Every star and stripe above.

As you teach their lips to pray, Teach them always to be true To the red, the white and blue; Praise the Flag from day to day, Tell the children at your knee All the joys of liberty.

Let them know and understand How the Flag was born and why; Tell how brave men went to die Gladly for their native land; Whisper to them that they must Make the Flag their sacred trust.

Love of country ever starts In the home and at your knee; There the Flag shall come to be Shrined in patriotic hearts; They shall gladly serve their land When they know and understand.

_Being Brave at Night_

The other night 'bout two o'clock, or maybe it was three, An elephant with shining tusks came chasing after me. His trunk was wavin' in the air an' spoutin' jets of steam An' he was out to eat me up, but still I didn't scream Or let him see that I was scared--a better thought I had, I just escaped from where I was and crawled in bed with dad.

One time there was a giant who was horrible to see, He had three heads and twenty arms, an' he come after me And red hot fire came from his mouths and every hand was red And he declared he'd grind my bones and make them into bread. But I was just too smart for him, I fooled him mighty bad, Before his hands could collar me I crawled in bed with dad.

I ain't scared of nothing that comes pesterin' me at night. Once I was chased by forty ghosts all shimmery an' white, An' I just raced 'em round the room an' let 'em think maybe I'd have to stop an' rest awhile, when they could capture me. Then when they leapt onto my bed, Oh Gee! but they were mad To find that I had slipped away an' crawled in bed with dad.

No giants, ghosts or elephants have dared to come in there 'Coz if they did he'd beat 'em up and chase 'em to their lair. They just hang 'round the children's rooms an' snap an' snarl an' bite An' laugh if they can make 'em yell for help with all their might, But I don't ever yell out loud. I'm not that sort of lad, I slip from out the covers and I crawl in bed with dad.

_A Cup of Tea_

Nellie made a cup of tea, Made and poured it out for me, And above the steaming brew Smiled and asked me: "One or two?" Saucily she tossed her head, "Make it sweet for me," I said.

Two sweet lumps of sugar fell Into that small china well, But I knew the while I drained Every drop the cup contained, More than sugar in the tea Made the beverage sweet for me.

This to her I tried to say In that golden yesterday-- Life is like a cup of tea Which Time poureth endlessly, Brewed by trial's constant heat, Needing love to make it sweet.

Then I caught her looking up, And I held my dainty cup Out to her and bravely said: "Here is all that lies ahead, Here is all my life to be-- Will you make it sweet for me?"

That was years ago, and now There is silver in her brow; We have sorrowed, we have smiled, We've been hurt and reconciled-- But whatever had to be, She has made it sweet for me.

_The Inspiration of the Past_

When melancholy rides the sky and fills The distance with her dust of gloom and doubt, And from despair there seems no gateway out; When the cold blast of disappointment chills The green young buds of hope and the once rosy hills Stand gaunt, forbidding battlements, too stout For faltering strength to master, ere it kills Faith in high purpose, turn your face about.

Search the great past, the ages that have gone; Pause and reflect by some remembered grave; At Valley Forge once more with Washington, Learn what it means to suffer and be brave. Or stand with patient Lincoln and believe That what is right, its purpose shall achieve.

_The Waiter_

I met him in a college town, a youngster with a grin, And he was sweeping up the floor when I was ushered in. When I had registered my name, he put aside his broom To grab my suitcase from the floor and show me to my room.

That night at dinner I beheld that youngster at my side, "We've pork and lamb," said he to me, "potatoes, baked or fried." When I had made my choice of food, he gayly went away And when he next appeared he had my dinner on a tray.

"So you're a waiter too?" said I. He chuckled soft and low: "Three times a day it is my job the dishes round to throw. I'm bell hop in the afternoons, between times I'm the clerk, But I can get my lessons when I've finished up my work.

"I'm on my way through college, and I'm paying for it here, Some day I'll chuck this job and be a civil engineer. I want an education, and the only way I had Was to come and be a waiter, for I haven't any dad."

I don't know how to say it, but some day I know I'll hear, If I still am with the living, of a civil engineer Who has earned his way to glory, and I'll smile at his renown And say: "There stands the waiter of that little college town."

_A Man Must Want_

It's wanting keeps us young and fit. It's wanting something just ahead And striving hard to come to it, That brightens every road we tread.

That man is old before his time Who is supremely satisfied And does not want some hill to climb Or something life has still denied.

The want of poverty is grim, It has a harsh and cruel sting, But fill the cup up to the brim, And that's a far more hopeless thing.

A man must want from day to day, Must want to reach a distant goal Or claim some treasure far away, For want's the builder of the soul.

He who has ceased to want has dropped The working tools of life and stands Much like an old-time clock that's stopped While Time is mouldering his hands.

I'm truly sorry for the man, Though he be millionaire or king, Who does not hold some cherished plan And says he does not want a thing.

Want is the spur that drives us on And oft its praises should be sung, For man is old when want is gone-- It's what we want that keeps us young.

_Abe Lincoln_

Bill and Jim drove into town on a pleasant summer day, Puffed their pipes and talked of things in a friendly sort of way, Talked of crops and politics, neighbors and the price of nails, Then, as they were jogging on, passed a fellow splitting rails. "Who's that yonder, Bill?" says Jim, "I don't seem to know his face." "That's Abe Lincoln," answered Bill--"got a shabby sort of place."

Lawsuit going on one day, Bill and Jim had time to spare, Dropped into the court awhile, found most all their neighbors there. "Moonlight night," one witness said--prisoner's chances mighty small, Till his lawyer rose and proved there wasn't any moon at all. "Who's defending him?" says Jim, "rather clever, I should say." "That's Abe Lincoln," answered Bill, "homely as a bale of hay."

Politics was getting hot, meetings almost every night, Orators from north and south talking loudly for the right. Bill and Jim were always there cheering for their party's cause, Then one time a chap got up talking morals more than laws. "Who's that speaking now?" says Jim, "think I've seen his face before." "That's Abe Lincoln," answered Bill, "shall we go or hear some more?"

Moral of it isn't much, greatness may be round about, But when seen from day to day men are slow to find it out. Those who saw him splitting rails, those who heard him plead a case Passed him by with little thought, laughing at his homely face. Those who neighbored with the boy, those who saw his summer tan, Those who lived in Lincoln's time never really knew the man.

_The Mushroom Expert_

Bill is a mushroom expert, and Bill is a friend of mine, He has studied the amanita and all its ancestral line; He goes to the fields each autumn to harvest a dinner treat For he knows which are deadly fungi, and which are the ones to eat.

Bill can talk by the hour on mushrooms and he laughs at my timid fears, He is still in the land of the living and has eaten the things for years; He is wise in the lore of the meadow, the swamp and the dark ravine, And I'd say, of the mushroom experts, he's the best that I've ever seen.

If ever I gathered mushrooms I'd carry them back to Bill And ask him to look them over and pick out the ones that kill; I'd trust to his certain knowledge and bank on his judgment, too, For he is a shark on that stuff and can spiel it right off to you.

Bill knows 'em and loves 'em and eats 'em, and all through the days of fall He's out with his little basket in search of the snowy ball; And never I doubt his knowledge, I grant it surpasses mine-- But during the mushroom season I don't go to Bill's to dine.

_The Town of Used to Be_