When Day is Done Part 12

When Ma gets out the monthly bills and sets them all in front of Dad, She makes us children run away because she knows he may get mad; An' then she smiles a bit and says: "I hope you will not fuss and fret-- There's nothing here except the things I absolutely had to get!"

An' Pa he looks 'em over first. "The things you had to have!" says he; "I s'pose that we'd have died without that twenty dollar longeree."

Then he starts in to write the checks for laundry an' for light an' gas, An' never says a word 'bout them--because they're small he lets 'em pa.s.s.

But when he starts to grunt an' groan, an' stops the while his pipe he fills, We know that he is gettin' down to where Ma's hid the bigger bills.

"Just what we had to have," says he, "an' I'm supposed to pay the tolls; Nine dollars an' a half for--say, what the deuce are camisoles?

"If you should break a leg," says Pa, "an couldn't get down town to shop, I'll bet the dry goods men would see their business take an awful drop, An' if they missed you for a week, they'd have to fire a dozen clerks!

Say, couldn't we have got along without this bunch of Billie Burkes?"

But Ma just sits an' grins at him, an' never has a word to say, Because she says Pa likes to fuss about the bills he has to pay.

Bob White

Out near the links where I go to play My favorite game from day to day, There's a friend of mine that I've never met Walked with or broken bread with, yet I've talked to him oft and he's talked to me Whenever I've been where he's chanced to be; He's a cheery old chap who keeps out of sight, A gay little fellow whose name is Bob White.

Bob White! Bob White! I can hear him call As I follow the trail to my little ball-- Bob White! Bob White! with a note of cheer That was just designed for a mortal ear.

Then I drift far off from the world of men And I send an answer right back to him then; An' we whistle away to each other there, Glad of the life which is ours to share.

Bob White! Bob White! May you live to be The head of a numerous family!

May you boldly call to your friends out here, With never an enemy's gun to fear.

I'm a better man as I pa.s.s along, For your cheery call and your bit of song.

May your food be plenty and skies be bright To the end of your days, good friend Bob White!

When Ma Wants Something New

Last night Ma said to Pa: "My dear, The Williamsons are coming here To visit for a week or two, An' I must have a talk with you.

We need some things which we must get-- You promised me a dinner set, An' I should like it while they're here."

An' Pa looked up an' said: "My dear, A dinner set? Well, I guess not.

What's happened to the one we've got?"

"We need a parlor rug," says Ma.

"We've got a parlor rug," says Pa.

"We ought to have another chair."

"You're sittin' in a good one there."

"The parlor curtains are a fright."

"When these are washed they look all right."

"The old stuff's pitiful to see."

"It still looks mighty good to me."

"The sofa's worn beyond repair."

"It doesn't look so bad, I swear."

"Gee Whiz, you make me tired," says Ma.

"Why, what's the matter now?" says Pa.

"You come an' go an' never see How old our stuff has grown to be; It still looks just the same to you As what it did when it was new, An' every time you think it strange That I should like to have a change."

"I'm gettin' old," says Pa. "Maybe You'd like a younger man than me."

"If this old rug was worn an' thin, At night you'd still come walkin' in An' throw your hat upon a chair An' never see a single tear; So long as any chair could stand An' bear your weight you'd think it grand.

If home depended all on you, It never would get something new."

"All right," says Pa, "go buy the stuff!

But, say, am I still good enough?"

Sittin' on the Porch

Sittin' on the porch at night when all the tasks are done, Just restin' there an' talkin', with my easy slippers on, An' my s.h.i.+rt band thrown wide open an' my feet upon the rail, Oh, it's then I'm at my richest, with a wealth that cannot fail; For the scent of early roses seems to flood the evening air, An' a throne of downright gladness is my wicker rocking chair.

The dog asleep beside me, an' the children rompin' 'round With their shrieks of merry laughter, Oh, there is no gladder sound To the ears o' weary mortals, spite of all the scoffers say, Or a grander bit of music than the children at their play!

An' I tell myself times over, when I'm sittin' there at night, That the world in which I'm livin' is a place o' real delight.

Then the moon begins its climbin' an' the stars s.h.i.+ne overhead, An' the mother calls the children an' she takes 'em up to bed, An' I smoke my pipe in silence an' I think o' many things, An' balance up my riches with the lonesomeness o' kings, An' I come to this conclusion, an' I'll wager that I'm right-- That I'm happier than they are, sittin' on my porch at night.

With Dog and Gun

Out in the woods with a dog an' gun Is my idea of a real day's fun.

'Tain't the birds that I'm out to kill That furnish me with the finest thrill, 'Cause I never worry or fret a lot, Or curse my luck if I miss a shot.

There's many a time, an' I don't know why, That I shoot too low or I aim too high, An' all I can see is the distant whirr Of a bird that's gittin' back home to her-- Yep, gittin' back home at the end o' day, An' I'm just as glad that he got away.

There's a whole lot more in the woods o' fall Than the birds you bag--if you think at all.

There's colors o' gold an' red an' brown As never were known in the busy town; There's room to breathe in the purest air An' something worth looking at everywhere; There's the dog who's leadin' you on an' on To a patch o' cover where birds have gone, An' standin' there, without move or change, Till you give the sign that you've got the range.

That's thrill enough for my blood, I say, So why should I care if they get away?

Fact is, there are times that I'd ruther miss Than to bring 'em down, 'cause I feel like this: There's a heap more joy in a living thing Than a breast crushed in or a broken wing, An' I can't feel right, an' I never will, When I look at a bird that I've dared to kill.

Oh, I'm jus' plumb happy to tramp about An' follow my dog as he hunts 'em out, Jus' watchin' him point in his silent way Where the Bob Whites are an' the partridge stay; For the joy o' the great outdoors I've had, So why should I care if my aim is bad?

Old Mister Laughter

Old Mister Laughter Comes a-grinnin' down the way, Singin': "Never mind your troubles, For they'll surely pa.s.s away."

Singin': "Now the sun is s.h.i.+nin'

An' there's roses everywhere; To-morrow will be soon enough To fret about your care."