Chapter 7

"H'it was just a bit unpleasant, when the shells were droppin' thick," And he tapped his leather leggins with his little bamboo stick. "What did H'I do? Nothing, really! Nothing more than just my share; Some one h'else would gladly do it, but H'I 'appened to be there."

When this sturdy British Tommy quits the battlefields of earth And St. Peter asks his spirit to recount his deeds of worth, I fancy I can hear him, with his curious English drawl, Saying: "Nothing, nothing really, that's worth mentioning at h'all."

The Right Family

With time our notions allus change, An' years make old idees seem strange-- Take Mary there--time was when she Thought one child made a family, An' when our eldest, Jim, was born She used to say, both night an' morn': "One little one to love an' keep, To guard awake, an' watch asleep; To bring up right an' lead him through Life's path is all we ought to do."

Two years from then our Jennie came, But Mary didn't talk the same; "Now that's just right," she said to me, "We've got the proper family-- A boy an' girl, God sure is good; It seems as though He understood That I've been hopin' every way To have a little girl some day; Sometimes I've prayed the whole night through-- One ain't enough; we needed two."

Then as the months went rollin' on, One day the stork brought little John, An' Mary smiled an' said to me; "The proper family is three; Two boys, a girl to romp an' play-- Jus' work enough to fill the day. I never had enough to do, The months that we had only two; Three's jus' right, pa, we don't want more." Still time went on an' we had four.

An' that was years ago, I vow, An' we have six fine children now; An' Mary's plumb forgot the day She used to sit an' sweetly say That one child was enough for her To love an' give the proper care; One, two or three or four or five-- Why, goodness gracious, sakes alive, If God should send her ten to-night, She'd vow her fam'ly was jus' right!

A Lesson from Golf

He couldn't use his driver any better on the tee Than the chap that he was licking, who just happened to be me; I could hit them with a brassie just as straight and just as far, But I piled up several sevens while he made a few in par; And he trimmed me to a finish, and I know the reason why: He could keep his temper better when he dubbed a shot than I.

His mashie stroke is choppy, without any follow through; I doubt if he will ever, on a short hole, cop a two, But his putts are straight and deadly, and he doesn't even frown When he's tried to hole a long one and just fails to get it down. On the fourteenth green I faded; there he put me on the shelf, And it's not to his discredit when I say I licked myself.

He never whined or whimpered when a shot of his went wrong; Never kicked about his troubles, but just plodded right along. When he flubbed an easy iron, though I knew that he was vexed, He merely shrugged his shoulders, and then coolly played the next, While I flew into a frenzy over every dub I made And was loud in my complaining at the dismal game I played.

Golf is like the game of living; it will show up what you are; If you take your troubles badly you will never play to par. You may be a fine performer when your skies are bright and blue But disaster is the acid that shall prove the worth of you; So just meet your disappointments with a cheery sort of grin, For the man who keeps his temper is the man that's sure to win.

Father's Chore

My Pa can hit his thumbnail with a hammer and keep still; He can cut himself while shaving an' not swear; If a ladder slips beneath him an' he gets a nasty spill He can smile as though he really didn't care. But the pan beneath the ice-box--when he goes to empty that-- Then a sound-proof room the children have to hunt; For we have a sad few minutes in our very pleasant flat When the water in it splashes down his front.

My Pa believes his temper should be all the time controlled; He doesn't rave at every little thing; When his collar-button underneath the chiffonier has rolled A snatch of merry ragtime he will sing. But the pan beneath the ice box--when to empty that he goes-- As he stoops to drag it out we hear a grunt; From the kitchen comes a rumble, an' then everybody knows That he splashed the water in it down his front.

Now the distance from the ice box to the sink's not very far-- I'm sure it isn't over twenty feet-- But though very short the journey, it is long enough for Pa As he travels it disaster grim to meet. And it's seldom that he makes it without accident, although In the summer time it is his nightly stunt; And he says a lot of language that no gentleman should know When the water in it splashes down his front.

The March o' Man

Down to work o' mornings, an' back to home at nights, Down to hours o' labor, an' home to sweet delights; Down to care an' trouble, an' home to love an' rest, With every day a good one, an' every evening blest.

Down to dreary dollars, an' back to home to play, From love to work an' back to love, so slips the day away. From babies back to business an' back to babes again, From parting kiss to welcome kiss, this marks the march o' men.

Some care between our laughter, a few hours filled with strife, A time to stand on duty, then home to babes and wife; The bugle sounds o' mornings to call us to the fray, But sweet an' low 'tis love that calls us home at close o' day.

INDEX OF FIRST LINES

A convalescin' woman does the strangest sort o' things, 176 A feller don't start in to think of himself, 174 A feller isn't thinkin' mean out fishin', 48 A little ship goes out to sea, 66 Along the paths o' glory there are faces new to-day, 61 An apple tree beside the way, 60 Before you came, my little lad, 77 Best way to read a book I know, 122 Cliffs of Scotland, guard them well, 63 Down to work o' mornings an' back to home at nights, 188 Eagerly he took my dime, 133 First thing in the morning, last I hear at night, 72 Full many a flag the breeze has kissed, 28 Give me the house where the toys are strewn, 30 Glad to get back home again, 82 God grant me these: the strength to do, 17 God grant that we shall never see, 76 God made the little boys for fun, 103 Got a sliver in my hand, 34 He couldn't use his driver any better on the tee, 184 He shall be great who serves his country well, 105 He was battle-scarred and ugly, 180 I can't help thinkin' o' the lad, 94 I do not ask a store of wealth, 166 I don't see why Pa likes him so, 26 I have no wish, my little lad, 156 I hold the finest picture books, 53 I like to get to thinking of the old days that are gone, 128 I look into the faces of the people passing by, 22 I remember the excitement and the terrible alarm, 24 I think my country needs my vote, 131 I wish I was a poet like the men that write in books, 90 I wonder what the trees will say, 134 I wonder where's a better job than buying cake and meat, 142 I would rather be the daddy, 52 I'd like to think when life is done, 36 If I could have my wish to-night, 120 I'm just the man to make things right, 55 "I'm never alone in the garden," he said, 170 I'm sorry for a feller if he hasn't any aunt, 88 Is it all in the envelope holding your pay? 150 Isn't it fine when the day is done, 13 It is faith that bridges the land of breath, 111 Last night I caught him on his knees, 70 Let loose the sails of love and let them fill, 33 Little girlie, kneeling there, 152 Little lady at the altar, 58 Men talk too much of gold and fame, 143 My father is a peaceful man, 46 My father knows the proper way, 80 My Pa can hit his thumbnail, 186 Oh, my shoulders grow aweary, 112 Old women say that men don't know, 124 One day the doctor came because my throat was feeling awful sore, 163 One never knows how far a word of kindness goes, 31 Pete bristles when the doorbell rings, 157 She is gentle, kind and fair, 67 She never closed her eyes in sleep, 20 "Some day," says Ma, "I'm goin' to get, 64 Some folks there be who seem to need excitement, 138 Some have the gift of song, 98 Somebody said that it couldn't be done, 37 Sometimes I'm almost glad to hear, 162 Strange thoughts come to the man alone, 145 Sure, they get stubborn at times, 79 "Tell us a story," comes the cry, 18 The children bring us laughter, 108 The dead return; I know they do, 84 The doctor leads a busy life, 114 The father toils at his work all day, 123 The golden dreamboat's ready, 158 The good old-fashioned mothers, 160 The kids at our house number three, 117 The little house has grown too small, 50 The little woman, to her I bow, 92 There are little eyes upon you, 172 There may be finer pleasures than just tramping with your boy, 116 There will always be something to do, 119 There's a bump on his brow, 69 There's a little chap at our house, 56 There's nothing cheers a fellow up just like a hearty greeting, 15 There's the mother at the doorway, 11 These joys are free to all who live, 171 They come to my room at the break of day, 165 "They tie you down," a woman said, 74 They've hung their stockings up with care, 102 Though some may yearn for titles great, 44 Tuggin' at your bottle, 149 Under the roof where the laughter rings, 32 We cannot count our friends, nor say, 43 We play at our house and have all sorts of fun, 16 We're gittin' so we need again, 146 We've never seen the Father here, 153 Whatever the task and whatever the risk, 109 When a little baby dies, 155 When an old man gets to thinking, 140 When father couldn't wear them, 147 "When I am rich," he used to say, 130 When I was but a little lad, 168 When mother baked an angel cake, 96 When Mrs. Malone got a letter from Pat, 41 When we've honored the heroes returning from France, 136 When winter shuts a fellow in, 86 Whenever I walk through God's Acres of Dead, 178 Who shall sit at the table, then, 40 With time our notions allus change, 182 You can brag about the famous men you know, 126 You can learn a lot from boys, 100 You never hear the robins brag, 38 You shall have satin and silk to wear, 106 "You're spoiling them!" the mother cries, 14