-m^ 
 
 BEAUTIFUL 
 • FLOWERS ' 
 
 
 ■m 
 
 MimMmM. 
 
 
 OTHER « SELECTION 
 
 LAURA RHODES RIBOINQEII 
 
Qass FSj^'T^jr 
 
 CDPyRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
BEAUTIFUL 
 
 FLOWER 
 
 i^#^^!^^^#^^^-5 AND ^^€^^^^<m^m^€ 
 
 OTHER ^ SELECTIONS 
 
 WIT HUMOR PATHOS 
 
 Suitable for 
 
 Public Entertainments, Grange, Home 
 Reading, etc. 
 
 Published by 
 
 LAURA RHODES RIEDINGER 
 
 ALLIANCE, OHIO 
 1912 
 
-ftz 
 
 
 Copyright 1912 
 
 by 
 
 Laura Rhodes Riedinger 
 
 /.7/- 
 
 ©CLA328990 
 
IB tlylB Ittti? uolump loitinglif 
 anib uStttlanaUls 
 
INDEX 
 
 A Forgotten Promise ii 
 
 Beautiful Flowers 5 
 
 Easter Eggs 21 
 
 Grandpa's First Suspenders 11 
 
 Happy Go Lucky 19 
 
 How I Earned My Dollar ... 26 
 
 Our Duties 18 
 
 The Song That Mother Sung 8 
 
 Uncle Joe 12 
 
 Who Should Bear The Blame 6 
 
 Welcome 20 
 
 W^hen We Went To School 22 
 
 Your Influence Is Wide 24 
 
 PROSE 
 
 Aunt Maria's First Moving Picture Show 3S 
 
 Bennie and Bessie's Christmas 29 
 
 Doughnuts 32 
 
 Hayseeds 45 
 
 Old Bufty 36 
 
 Sammy's Experience 41 
 
 DIALOGUES 
 
 A Sisters Good Advice 52 
 
 Old Songs 49 
 
 On The Farm 54 
 
O, the beautiful flowers that grow and bloom, 
 
 For the rich and the poor just alike, 
 O, the beautiful flowers dispel the gloom 
 
 On our left, the same as our right. 
 
 Some bloom best in the Hght, some best in the shade, 
 Some bloom well anywhere they may grow. 
 
 And even the first little flowers of spring 
 
 Peep their tiny heads up through the snow. 
 
 I love to gather such beautiful flowers, 
 And arrange them in wreaths and bouquets. 
 
 And know I will miss them when frosts come again, 
 And spoil them, "But God hath his ways." 
 
WHO SHOULD BEAR THE BLAME? 
 
 T'was at the depot, in a city, 
 
 On grand Lake Erie's shore. 
 When I chanced while there in waiting, 
 
 Mid the rumble and the roar. 
 Of the carriages and street cars, 
 
 As they passed from street to street. 
 Carrying souls to happy endings, 
 
 Some, perhaps, sad fate to meet. 
 
 I say t'was while I chanced was waiting 
 
 For my train that I did see. 
 Two men leisurely approaching, 
 
 With a boy not over three 
 Years of age who tightly held, 
 
 Between his rose pink lips to mar, 
 The beauty of that little one, 
 
 A freshly lighted cigar. 
 
 The father soon I saw was bending. 
 
 O'er his child and then did take. 
 The cigar from out those pink lips. 
 
 But the child with look of hate, 
 Grasped and struggled with the father, 
 
 For what seemed to him a joy. 
 Which the father then had taken, 
 
 From his little brown eyed boy. 
 
 The father soon of course was master 
 
 Of his child of tender years. 
 Placed the bone of his contention, 
 
 Boldly and without a fear, 
 To his own stained lips, then smiling, 
 
 As he to his friend spoke low; 
 His companion then said laughing, 
 
 Now, I guess you've spoiled him, Joe? 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 Both the men seemed quite good natured, 
 
 Seemed to treat it as a joke; 
 But the boy did not accept it, 
 
 In that same light, I did note— 
 For great tears soon filled his brown eyes, 
 
 Racing down his cheeks and fell, 
 Upon his blouse; and how he felt, 
 
 No one but the boy could tell. 
 
 He raised his fists both brown and chubby, 
 
 Placed them to his tear stained eyes. 
 As again fresh tears were falling, 
 
 Rubbed them round, and then cross-wise. 
 Tears mixed with the dust of travel, 
 
 A begrimed and pouting boy. 
 Rolled his piercing dark eyes sidewise. 
 
 All his beauty to destroy. 
 
 The look he bore, I could not tell you; 
 
 I know the camera, too would fail. 
 With his dark eyes resting on me, 
 
 Seemed my very soul to nail. 
 I approached the little fellow. 
 
 Cautiously, lest I seem bold, 
 "How old are you my little man?" 
 
 Came the answer, "Free years old." 
 
 The three passed on and out of sight, 
 But the picture lingers still, 
 
 That only time and rush of years, 
 May erase at memory's will. 
 
 But will the lesson taught that boy, 
 ■ With a downward step at three. 
 
 Be blotted by the rush of years, 
 From out his memory? 
 
/ 
 
 BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 Was a loving father carelessly, 
 
 Amusing his little son, 
 Without one thought that it might lead, 
 
 Far from where it was begun — 
 Could we unveil the future years, 
 
 Neath high heavens protecting care 
 And find that little lad then grown, 
 
 To manhood's years — but where, O where! 
 
 Not even his mother's pleading prayer, 
 
 Nor his father's subdued moan 
 Not even his parents hard earned cash. 
 
 Nor the last mortgage on the home. 
 Could ransom him from all his shame — 
 
 Then we ask ourselves, 
 Who should bear the blame? 
 
 THE SONGS THAT MOTHER SUNG. 
 
 You would like to hear a story, one that is re'ly true; 
 
 If you will listen closely, I'll tell one now to you; 
 
 It's one that lingers with me, 'tis not so very long. 
 
 But 'twas how I conquered trouble while singing mother's song. 
 
 Mother and I lived all alone. I was her only son 
 
 That was spared to help her bear the loss of her family, one by one. 
 
 But Oh! She seemed more lonely, since father had passed away, 
 
 And would often say "I soon will go. I haven't long to stay." 
 
 Her minutes dragged as hours, and hours as days in youth. 
 
 And days as weeks and weeks as months. Oh! sir, it is the truth 
 
 My mother tried to keep up cheer, but each day as she turned a page 
 
 Of her life's book, I thought how sad "The lonesomeness of age." 
 
 She read her Bible every day, and prayed that God above 
 
 Would keep her ever faithful, surrounded by His love. 
 
 Then she would knit, then darn awhile, then feed our old dog Styx; 
 
 And then she'd take the snuffers, and trim the candle wicks. 
 
 8 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 Then every morn, and every eve, the year throughout at six. 
 My mother went to milk, she said "Her cow that never kicks." 
 A shining bucket brimming full of milk, my mother'd bring 
 Back from the stable, as leisurely she'd walk along and sing — 
 
 Old fashioned tunes, and songs that were the foremost in her youth, 
 Songs not rhymed alone for tune, but 'cause they bore the truth. 
 Her voice would quiver now and then, and then again it creaked ; 
 But she seemed happy when she milked old "Boss that never 
 
 kicked." 
 I said to her one day, "Now, mother, you're getting old. 
 It doesn't seem just right for you to go out in the cold, 
 I'll milk tonight." But she replied, "Not so long as I am able, 
 ril milk old Boss myself," said she, "If I can get out to the stable.** 
 
 "I'm old fashioned, people say, and won't give up my notions. 
 And am not likely to at my age, why! Good land of Goshen! 
 I never could sit down and rock, while others trimmed my candle wicks, 
 Nor can I now neglect my cow, when she stands and never kicks." 
 
 But, as with all things on this earth, they undergo a change, 
 And sometimes things do happen, which to you seem very strange. 
 One morning I heard mother call, and then the clock struck six, 
 "You'll have to milk my cow," she said, "but she'll stand good, she 
 never kicks." 
 
 "Just stroke her gently, and then say, 'so Bossy, so ! Now so !' 
 And then sit down and get to work and how the milk will flow. 
 I really hate to miss the fun, but tomorrow morn at six, 
 I'll be there to milk old Boss again ; old Boss that never kicks." 
 
 Yes, mother, I will milk your cow, don't worry, just lie still; 
 And as I pressed her fevered brow, it sent through me a thrill. 
 If Boss objects, I'll say to her, "This morning, mother's sick, 
 And your reputation you much keep, that you will never kick." 
 
 I walked out to the stable then, with shining pail in hand. 
 
 Sat down, and stroked old Boss and said, "So, Bossy, so. Now standi" 
 
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 She turned her head and sized me up, and then, sir, just that quick^ 
 She switched her tail, then landed me ; now say old Boss won't kick. 
 
 I stood athwart, just what to do, or next what plan to take, 
 
 I would not dare tell mother, just for her own dear sake. 
 
 Why! I'll try again. I'll let her know I'm going to be boss, 
 
 But her foot flew out, and I went down, as her head gave another tosi. 
 
 I got up again, and brushed myself, and said, "Now, Boss, that's 
 
 number two, 
 And if you know what you're about, you'd better let that do I 
 ril not surrender yet a while to you, an old dumb brute I 
 Stand still, here, now ! I'll tell you ! Or you'll feel my cow-hide 
 
 boot." 
 
 I kicked her ; nicknamed her, too ; and pounded with the stool, 
 
 And then sat down and tried to milk, like any honest fool. 
 
 But my mind I changed, Boss really knew what, I guess, she was 
 
 about, 
 For every time I tried to milk, that foot of her's flew out. 
 
 I thought then of my mother, that I wasf her only son, 
 I didn't like to risk my life, ere her old days were done. 
 Then it came to mind what I should do, tho' it be a sort of trick. 
 But nothing would be too mean for her — a cow that tried to kick, 
 
 So I, slipped to the house and donned mother's dress and breakfast 
 
 shawl, 
 Put on her apron, bonnet, too. I'll tell you I looked tall, 
 Then out again to try my plan, why, say, it worked sleek; 
 And while milking, mother's hymns I sang, and Boss never tried to 
 
 kick. 
 
 Mother never milked old Boss again, and that was long ago. 
 So long, in fact, that my hands are feeble, and my step is slow. 
 But memory, as each day goes by, and the old clock still strikes six, 
 Brings back mother's songs she used to sing, and Boss that didn't 
 kick. 
 
 10 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 And while I'm waiting for the pages of my life's book to turn, 
 I think backward of my journey, and for former years do yearn, 
 But the tasks that I have tried to do, as time has onward swung, 
 Was made easier by far each day by the old songs mother sang. 
 
 A FORGOTTEN PROMISE. 
 
 "Say, Pop, when is you doin' to town? 
 I'd like so muts to do' along ! 
 You 'member what you promised me? 
 If you'se fordot, I ain't you see. 
 
 "Don't you know\ you said last fall, 
 'When I dot big as Tommy Hall, 
 (For then I was too small a tot), 
 You'd bring me somefin?' — You know what! 
 
 "Now, Pop, you know what Tommy wears, 
 And you dest better bring two pairs! 
 You don't 'member? Well, Tommy calls 
 Them, what I wanted, overalls." 
 
 GRANDPA'S FIRST SUSPENDERS. 
 
 My first suspenders! Ah, me! Yet — 
 I surely never will forget 
 The pride that filled my little heart. 
 I said of them we ne'er will part. 
 
 But time has pass'd and years have flown, 
 And with the years I've older grown. 
 Suspenders! I've had many pairs; 
 I number them with my grey hairs. 
 
 Be proud of them while e'er you can; 
 But they alone won't make the man. 
 This is the story grandpa told 
 His little grandson four years old. 
 11 
 
UNCLE JOE. 
 Charlie : — 
 
 Come, tell me truly, Uncle Joe, 
 
 What's brought about this change. 
 I scarcely can believe my eyes. 
 
 Things look so very strange. 
 At least, to me, for when I came 
 
 To bid you all good-bye. 
 Five years, or little more, ago 
 
 I turned and gave a sigh. 
 Which came from deep within my breast* 
 
 Nor could I ne'er repress 
 The thought that my old Uncle Joe 
 
 Would come to dire distress. 
 If he ere long^ could not be shown. 
 
 That most the fault did lie 
 Within himself, and not the farm. 
 
 For which they do deny 
 Themselves of pleasures, one and all, 
 
 And Martha, his dear wife. 
 The fashions never changed for her. 
 
 The rags tell that their life 
 Is scrimp the more from day to day, 
 
 With no bright thought in sight ; 
 That taxes would be light to pay 
 
 If things are managed right. 
 Please bear with me, now. Uncle Joe, 
 
 I'm sure 'tis not a dream. 
 You may not like to hear it, though, 
 
 It can be plainly seen 
 That some good messenger has stopped 
 
 Within your humble home. 
 And lent its influence, good and true. 
 
 And placed a different tone 
 Upon the picture that I thought 
 
 I could not help but view 
 When I'd return to see you all. 
 
 12 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 Now, Uncle Joe, be true. 
 And tell your nephew of the change, 
 
 When quite discouraged you 
 Were, when I saw you last, dear Joe, 
 
 And what inspired you to 
 Get out that rut, both deep and wide. 
 
 Where you had dwelt so long; 
 Willing to give your farm away. 
 
 Or sell it for a song. 
 Because your crops would not pan out 
 
 As you desired they should. 
 Why, the cattle scarce had strength enough 
 
 To even chew their cud. 
 The horses chewed their mangers up, 
 
 And pawed the floor away, 
 And decidedly refused to work 
 
 I believe I heard you say. 
 The pigs, they rooted up the ground 
 
 With just one thought in view, 
 They'd find some corn, or substitute; 
 
 What better could they do. 
 The cats and dogs all seemed to know] 
 
 That something had gone wrong. 
 And e'en the birds that hovered round. 
 
 Had quite repressed their song. 
 The fences all were tumbling down. 
 
 The roofs were falling in, 
 And to tell the truth, now, Uncle Joe, 
 
 Things really looked like sin. 
 Now to whom all this credit lies, 
 
 To know, I plead again. 
 For what would help you. Uncle Joe, 
 
 Is good for other men. 
 
 Uncle Joe : — 
 
 I will tell you 'bout it, Charlie, 
 
 Since you insist to know 
 What has lightened all these burdens 
 
 13 
 
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 For your poor old Uncle Joe. 
 Good farm papers were sent to me 
 
 Each week, with some new plea 
 For better ruling on the farm, 
 
 They meant so much to me. 
 They brought the markets, suggestions, too. 
 
 For those who care to know 
 The proper way to run a farm 
 
 And really make things go. 
 As if the farm was being run 
 
 On systematic plan, 
 And not as I for years have done: 
 
 "The farm to run the man." 
 Some friend of mine, who must have known 
 
 About our sorry plight, 
 Sent me some papers which I read. 
 
 With interest, from first sight. 
 I read to Martha about some hens 
 
 That laid so many eggs, 
 And asked her to compare her flock. 
 
 For which she ever pleads. 
 "Perchance," says Martha, looking up, 
 
 (She always was a tease) ; 
 "If you'll inform yourself right, Joe, 
 
 They roost in different trees 
 From what mine do on a stormy night." 
 
 She'd told me long before, 
 I wasn't running things quite right. 
 
 And so I said no more. 
 But when the papers came each week, 
 
 I read their pages o'er, 
 And as each article I read 
 
 I really thought the more 
 About how I might have our farm, 
 
 If sun, or frosts, or hail. 
 Or drouths, or flood, or blackbirds bold, 
 
 Or crows, or some fresh gale, 
 Would not disturb my crops when I 
 
 14 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 Had cared for them so well, 
 And weeds seemed noxious all the more, 
 
 When I was blue a spell. 
 The pictures which those papers gave 
 
 Of stock from other farms, 
 Looked altogether different t^an 
 
 The stock within my barns. 
 I said to Martha, then, one day. 
 
 For fear she'd think it strange, 
 "These papers give me some new thought 
 
 And I will make a change." 
 "If other men can baffle worms, 
 
 And all the noxious weeds, 
 And keep the crows and blackbirds 
 
 From picking out the seeds, 
 And have their farms like pictures here, 
 
 That's shown upon this page. 
 It makes a man, with one like ours, 
 
 Almost to start with rage, 
 To think that I for years have been 
 
 So slack about this farm ; 
 If she'd forgive me for the past, 
 
 I knew with my strong arm, 
 And conscience that tells me, that I 
 
 My duty have not done, 
 And these experiences of other men, 
 
 They'd all help me along.. 
 With Martha's hens I would begin; 
 
 I knew her heart felt sore 
 When they'd roost out on a stormy night, 
 
 Or when the rain did pour. 
 She said to me one stormy liiglht: 
 
 "Suppose you'd try it, Joe, 
 To sleep outdoors a night like this; 
 
 Then you would really know, 
 How uncomfortable my poors hens are, 
 
 And why they do not lay; 
 For when they are not treated right 
 15 
 
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 They, too, will strike, in pay. 
 But that's not all ; God cares for us, 
 
 All praise we give to Him ; 
 But to my rnind, the way you treat 
 
 Your stoclc it is a sin." 
 I threw some papers in her lap, 
 
 And says : *'Now choose your plan, 
 For there's a number that arc good, 
 
 Aad then we'll get our man 
 To come and build your hen house, dear. 
 
 For my conscience won't allow 
 Such insinuations flung at me. 
 
 Cannot stand it, now, no how, 
 My heart went pit-a-pat, pat, pat; 
 
 I wondered to myself, 
 I£ I should have to answer for 
 
 What can't be paid in pelf. 
 I didn't stop v^ith chicken house, 
 
 But went about the place 
 Repairing everything in sight 
 
 That looked like a disgrace. 
 It wasn't all done in a day, 
 
 Nor in a week, nor two, 
 For when a place gets so run down 
 
 There's so much more to do. 
 The cattle all were tended well. 
 
 The cows milked twice a day ; 
 The horses, too, are curried now. 
 
 And given grain and hay. 
 The pigs were given milk and com* 
 
 And rings to their content. 
 The sheep, I do believe my eyes, 
 
 Hare gained fifty per cent. 
 IVe ^thered all my farming tools, 
 
 Scattered about the farm, 
 And placed them in a nice new shed, 
 
 Wliere storms can do no harm. 
 And while I plaiited trees and vine% 
 16 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 And berries by the score, 
 Dear Martha read the household parts 
 
 That's in those papers, nor. 
 Was she quite satisfied with that, 
 
 But tried the recipes, too. 
 And when those papers came each week, 
 
 She still tries something new, 
 And then our Dick got eager, too; 
 
 Our Dick he does enjov 
 The stories in those papers; 
 
 Our Dick! He's just the Doy 
 Who helped me gather up the trasa. 
 
 And cart it all away. 
 Enough to start a syndicate, 
 
 I behave the boys would say. 
 Old wagon wheels and binders, too, 
 
 Old iron and mowing macnine. 
 With crockery and brick-bats enougH 
 
 To make any yard look mean. 
 But now our lawn looks beautnui, 
 
 *Tis our joy and delight. 
 As we stand and look about us 
 
 With the drawing shades of night 
 We feel a satisfaction, now. 
 
 Since all within our charge 
 Are sheltered from all kinds of storm. 
 
 And nothing out at large. 
 Now, Charlie, since you've told me 
 
 You're going to buy a fann, 
 Marry a pretty country gin 
 
 And spend your lives thereon. 
 I'll tell you what I'm going to do. 
 
 As that friend did for me, 
 ri) send you, just to start you right. 
 
 Those same papers one year free. 
 1 wish I knew who that friend was. 
 
 That I may now repay 
 The debt I feel I owe to him, 
 17 
 
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 With interest from the day 
 I "Wish you'd help me, boy, 
 To find my friend! You're going now! 
 Good-bye, I wish you joy!" 
 
 Charlie :— 
 
 My uncle does not know that I, 
 
 Although a city chap. 
 Had sent his papers to him, though 
 
 I now will get them back ; 
 With interest, too, they always say, 
 
 When some kind deed you do. 
 For those papers all are better now 
 
 Than they were five years ago. 
 
 OUR DUTIES. 
 
 There is so much work for us to do, if we would do it; 
 There is many a journey to pursue, if we'd pursue it; 
 Then, why stand idly by? 
 
 There are many kind words we could give, if we would give them; 
 There are many sufferers to relieve, if we'd relieve them; 
 So, why not let us try? 
 
 There are many songs that we might sing, if we would sing them; 
 There are many hearts that we could cheer, if we would cheer them; 
 And do our best, not wait? 
 
 There are many problems for us to face, if we would face them; 
 And all of our life's paths to grace, if we would grace them; 
 
 Those papers came within my home. 
 
 Before it is too late. 
 18 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 HAPPY GO LUCKY. 
 
 A happy go lucky, am I, 
 
 Couldn't be anything else if I'd try; 
 
 I don't like to work, don't like the name Shirk, 
 
 Yet a happy go lucky, am I, 
 
 ril get into trouble. Ma says. 
 
 But that'll be nothing new, gee whiz! 
 
 For I don't like to work, get mad if called Shirk, 
 
 Have always done just as I pleased. 
 
 I'm the pet of the family, says Ma. 
 
 I'm the pride of his heart, says Pa, 
 
 I don't like to work, and will fight like a Turk 
 
 When dad tries to lay down the law. 
 
 You'll be pretty lucky. Ma said. 
 
 If you always have enough bread, 
 
 You don't like to work, you do nothing but shirk 
 
 But, I laughed, and then shook my head. 
 
 Pa says a good hickory I need, 
 
 'Twill give me a little more speed; 
 
 It's easier to shirk, when you don't have to work, 
 
 And work and I never agreed. 
 
 I guess I'm an impudent chap, 
 
 For when Pa took me across his lap 
 
 And then went to work, says I : "Now, Pa, don't shirk,* 
 
 I'll tell you he laid it on pat. 
 
 "Now, sonny, you've got to reform. 
 
 As sure as the day you were born"; 
 
 Pa'd said it before, but this time he meant war ; 
 
 Ma cried then, and looked so forlorn. 
 
 Ma wants to reform me, she said, 
 For fear I will go to the bad; 
 
 19 
 
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 Pa says he'll do it, I guess he'll stick to it, 
 He said it, and looked pretty mad. 
 
 I ain't quite as old as my Pa, 
 
 Nor yet quite as thoughtful as Ma. 
 
 But one thing I've learned, and it ain't to be spurned, 
 
 Make your youngsters, from first, bide your law. 
 
 It'll save lots of trouble for you. 
 
 And whippin's for your youngsters, too, 
 
 If you teach 'em to work, and don't let 'cm shirk. 
 
 But make 'em be faithful and true. 
 
 It'f hard to stay good when you're good; 
 Temptations, they must be withstood; 
 With all of the gilt and the tinsel one sees. 
 Ever alert our friends to please. 
 
 But when you are bad, it is sad, 
 If you're worse than was your own dad! 
 Then try and be good, as all of us should, 
 And the world will rejoice and be glad. 
 
 WELCOME. 
 
 (Suitable for the opening of a Christmas entertainment. Given 
 by a child under ten years old. There should be a telephone on the 
 wall or go^d imitation of one. The child bids the audience a wel- 
 come, and then is interrupted by the ringing of the telephone belt 
 just as it repeats the last line of the first stanza.) 
 
 We bid you all a welcome here. 
 Kind parents true, and children dear; 
 Young gents with ladies by their side; 
 Old folks whose grey hairs are their pride; 
 We welcome all, this glorious Christmas tide. 
 (After ringing of the bell.) 
 20 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 Excuse me, please, both large and small, 
 While I answer this special call. 
 (Steps to phone, takes down receiver, and talks 
 as though to Santa Glaus.) 
 
 Hello! Whose there? 
 
 Is this dear Santa Claus? 
 
 And coming here tonight? 
 
 The children all will give applause, 
 
 And welcome you at sight. 
 
 Do I think they will? Again, please! 
 
 I can scarcely hear you, now. 
 
 Was that you coughed, Santa? Did you say no? 
 
 Ah! That receiver's gone up, I trow. 
 
 Well, Santa, I'll not now detain you long. 
 But in spite of snow or shower, 
 We will lay all other fun aside. 
 To greet you in just one hour. 
 
 (Comes to froot again and repeats) : 
 
 My speech I've quite forgotten now. 
 But I guess 'twill be all right. 
 For I've something good to tell you, dears, 
 **Santa Claus is coming here tonight.** 
 
 EASTER EGGS. 
 
 Easter eggs of every color, 
 
 Eggs of every hue; 
 Some are spotted, some are striped. 
 
 Some red and white and blue. 
 
 Some tell me the rabbits lay them; 
 
 Some say the roosters do; 
 When I spoke to mamma 'bout it, 
 
 She says: "They're just tormenting yoti.* 
 21 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 She told me : "Easter was the day 
 That Christ rose from the dead, 
 
 But that the subject was quite deep 
 For her little curly head." 
 
 She said : "We celebrate this day 
 Over our whole, broad land; 
 
 But when you older get, my dear, 
 You then will understand." 
 
 WHEN WE WENT TO SCHOOL. 
 
 I heard Pa and Ma a talkin' t'other day when I came home 
 From school and felt so cross) and tired, and laid my books down 
 
 with a groan. 
 "Too much study, too much writin', too much Latin, and the like," 
 Says Pa to Ma, and Ma to Pa. "Poor child studies day and night." 
 "We went hopping and a-skipping or we ran along to school ; 
 We were happy, we were healthy, and we knew the Golden Rule ; 
 When we went to school. 
 
 "We went laughing and a-singing, turning somersaults the way; 
 We went chasing and a-racing, sometimes were a little rough at 
 play; 
 
 When we went to school. 
 
 "We played blackman, we playedj shinny, we played ball and other 
 
 things ; 
 We played ring-around-a-rosy, village green, and other rings ; 
 When we went to school. 
 
 "We played hide-and-seek, or jack-straws, and we jumped the rope, 
 
 at times ; 
 We played button, we gave riddles, and often sang our nursery 
 rhymes ; 
 
 When we went to school. 
 22 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 *'A11 our noons and our recesses, we were romping, and made ttoit^ 
 But we often now recall them, they were perfect days of joys; 
 When we went to school. 
 
 '^e had headmarks, we got footmarks, in our spelling class of 
 
 yore; 
 As we stood in perfect lines, with our toe-marks on the floor; 
 When we went to school. 
 
 **We wrote on foolscap, and wore dunce-caps, if we failed to mind 
 
 the rule, 
 That the teacher laid down strictly; boys sat with the prettiest 
 
 girls in school; 
 
 When we went to school. 
 
 **We passed the water, or felt great honor, when we were chosen to 
 
 spell down ; 
 And the ones that stood the longest, felt that they had gained 
 
 renown ; 
 
 When we went to school. 
 
 '*We wrote with pens made from goose quills, dipped in red pok»> 
 
 berry ink ; 
 We sang our capitals and boundaries, and it really made us think; 
 When we went to school. 
 
 **We sat erect at night for roll call, with books on shelf or in 
 
 pigeon hole; 
 We answered perfect, or imperfect, as the teacher called the roll; 
 When we went to school. 
 
 "We went home, and then were ready for a mug of milk and mush 
 
 so hot. 
 Stirred by mother with her paddle in the old round-bottomed pot; 
 When we went to school. 
 
 "But now it's headache, and its backache, they're stoop-shouldered 
 for their age, 
 
 23 
 
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 And it's near-sighted, and it's far-sighted, stigmatism is the rage ; 
 When our children go to school. 
 
 **Now they use gold pens, and pencils, and tablets of great size, 
 Walk dignified and look sober, I s'pose 'cause they're getting wise; 
 When our children go to school. 
 
 "Now we're old, things do seem foolish, but must quiet keep the 
 
 while, 
 If children split their heads with learnin', just because it is the style; 
 When our children go to school." 
 
 Thus sat Pa and Ma a-talkin', just as earnest as could be; 
 What brought about so many changes, they really couldn't see; 
 Since they went to school. 
 
 I stepped forward then and told them that 'tis progress, people say; 
 But they replied: "If poor health she's makin', 'twas better she 
 had stayed away. 
 
 YOUR INFLUENCE IS WIDE. 
 
 No, child, no ! don't trouble me ; 
 
 I've no time for foolishness, you see. 
 
 "But please, sir, your influence is wide 
 
 And would you only come inside 
 
 Our Sabbath school for one short hour — 
 
 On Sunday morning?" 
 
 Now, lassie, I said you should let me be 
 
 While all this work depends on me. 
 
 I feel sometimes that I would flee; 
 
 Flee, yes, flee to I don't know where; 
 
 To the highest mount, or would I care 
 
 If 'twas cold or hot or high or low. 
 
 If I was sure of rest there I would go. 
 
 "Don't go so far vour rest to find; 
 
 24 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 The kind you need, sweet peace of mind, 
 Christ said to all, 'Come unto me 
 Ye heavy laden." 
 
 Go! I say, intrude no more. 
 
 Hear what I say, turn, see the door? 
 
 You've troubled me for this whole day, 
 
 The words that mother used to say; 
 
 You've sent them ringing in my ear, 
 
 With other thoughts distinct and clear. 
 
 Expressions that I had quite forgot. 
 
 She said them when I was a tot, 
 
 A little larger here than you. 
 
 And I don't know — perhaps they're true — 
 
 But was I harsh? Come, dry that tear! 
 
 Let go the door, come, little dear ! 
 
 I'd feel myself a pretty fool 
 
 To start again to Sabbath school. 
 
 Besides, on Sunday morn at eight, 
 
 I start to ride o'er my estate. 
 
 And don't get back until quite late. 
 
 Business is always pressing me; 
 
 I've sought the plains and crossed the sea; 
 
 I've sought for rest in many lands. 
 
 But I'm followed up by cablegrams. 
 
 Telegraphs, letters, long-distance telephones. 
 
 Stating, "Stocks had dropped down," or begging for loans. 
 
 It's stocks and it's bonds and real estate. 
 
 From early hours until quite late; 
 
 Each day of the six, yes, all the seven, 
 
 Could use another one if 'twere given; 
 
 So run along home, where you'd better stay; 
 
 But from my office you must keep away. 
 
 You trouble my conscience, I hardly know why, 
 From early morn till dawn draws nigh. 
 You follow me home; in my dreams I see 
 You are standing before me making vour plea. 
 
 23 
 
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 "My influence is wide, and that Jim Smith has said 
 That he'd follow on, if I'd take the lead. 
 To go to your Sabbath school each Sunday morn. 
 No matter the weather, be it cold or warm." 
 
 Now Jim Smith is only a laboring man, 
 Who works in my shops, and does what he can 
 To support his family in a humble home, 
 And baffle the trials that daily do come. 
 But what is it to others or what is it to Jim 
 If I am a Christian, or if I live in sin? 
 
 "Please, sir, I have said your influence is wide; 
 You own all these shops ; and the men inside. 
 They note your prosperity and your great gains. 
 And wonder if you get all by honorable means; 
 You make large donations — then add to your station; 
 Are you getting it all, sir, by honorable means .•' 
 
 We have pledged ourselves, sir, our Sabbath school band, 
 
 To add new members and take a strong stand 
 
 To help all the needy and weak at our hand. 
 
 So Jim is the needy, and you are the weak. 
 
 And should go hand in hand the Saviour to seek. 
 
 HOW I EARNED MY DOLLAR FOR THE NEW 
 CHURCH ORGAN. 
 
 Twas only al dollar they asked me to earn 
 
 Toward the new church organ, for our old one we spurned. 
 
 'Twas only a dollar, the amount seemed quite small. 
 
 But how could I earn it was the worst part of all. 
 
 Earn only a dollar. 'Twould be easy to do, 
 A woman with three children, and a husband, too. 
 For there's labor enough to earn a dollar or more. 
 So to work 1 went with more vim than before. 
 
 26 
 
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 I washed and I ironed, 1 scrubbed and 1 baked; 
 
 1 cooked and washed dishes, and the beds 1 would make: 
 
 1 sewed and 1 mended, 1 swept and I churned : 
 
 But no one came and said : "Now a dollar you've earned." 
 
 So I became quite discouraged, and sat down to rest ; 
 
 But again I concluded, I'd still do my best. 
 
 Then came to my mind that the schoolhousc round the corner 
 
 Must surely be cleaned for the cominjj summer. 
 
 So off theft I hastened the work to obtain. 
 And when I secured it, then flashed through my brain 
 The amount of hard labor there would be to do; 
 Then says to myself: "How can I get through?" 
 
 But it's no use to worry, tho' I often do. 
 A woman with three children, and a husband too. 
 Why, the tables I'd turn, for no days do I shirk; 
 I'd tell them about it, and set them to work 
 
 So I told them the story of the Aid Society scheme. 
 And that I had engaged the schoolhouse to clean : 
 'T would be very hard work, but that I'd made a bargain, 
 To earn just a dollar for the new church organ. 
 
 The words were but said, when to mv surprise. 
 
 They looked at each other with laughing eves: 
 
 "May I help you, mamma? May I help you, too?" 
 
 Said the dear little ones, then what could my husband do. 
 
 But pack up and start, without ever a word. 
 
 With his heart light and happy as any bird: 
 
 For you know when we have any hard work to do, 
 
 We should try to be cheerful ; 'twill help us all through. 
 
 I packed babies, and kettles, whitewash, and brush, 
 A knife and a broom, buckets and stove polish, 
 A box of soap, and rags by the dozen 
 In the little express, to be drawn by my husband. 
 
 21 
 
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 Then I shouldered a wash tub and with mop in my hand, 
 You'd thought we had started for some far-off land. 
 We waded the mud, and with rain pouring down, 
 I imagined a picture that would take the town. 
 
 I need not give in detail the trials to meet. 
 
 In the three or four days, ere our work was complete, 
 
 But many a backache, sore neck and sore arm, 
 
 To tell you the truth, 'twas worth a small farm. 
 
 But when we hadi finished, and my money I drew 
 
 To pay my expenses was the next thing to do. 
 
 But still, I must manage (to fulfill my bargain). 
 
 Or I'd be left on my dollar for the new church organ. 
 
 So I says to myself: "I know what I'll do, 
 ril take out my dollar first, and 'twill be all right, too." 
 Then I paid for my brush, whitewash and stove blacking, — 
 But now you may think my principle lacking. 
 
 I didn't ask my husband what he would charge, 
 For fear his bill would be entirely too large; 
 But gave him the balance, and asked if 'twould do. 
 He smiled and said blandly, "Oh, yes, I guess so." 
 
 Now if anyone tells you a woman can't earn 
 
 A dollar to help purchase a new church organ, 
 
 Don't believe them, but remember what I may now say, 
 
 That whenever there's a will there's always a way. 
 
 But a lesson I've learned, and I'll be careful, too. 
 
 When they hand me a paper with signing to do. 
 
 A dollar isn't much for a woman, when you think of its measure, 
 
 But to earn it strictly yourself is a different pleasure. 
 
 28 
 
PROSE 
 
 BENNIE AND BESSIE'S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 "Yes, tomorrow being Christmas, promise me that every 
 package will be promptly delivered at 567 Church street." 
 
 "Now, remember, be prompt, and don't forget." 
 
 "Now I must hasten to my ofifice for I am already late, but 
 nothing is more pleasing to me than the satisfaction that every 
 detail for our Christmas holiday has been arranged and those 
 presents fine and costly; won't they look beautiful on that splen- 
 did tree sent down this morning?" 
 
 "Our children, Amy and Archie, can boast over the presents 
 of all the other children on the street." 
 
 No. 567 Church street was a mansion large and grand, and 
 seemed to say as we gazed at its pleasant surroundings, its beau- 
 tiful window drapery, "What a lovely home." And even more 
 so would they feel a spirit of unavoidable jealousy, as they en- 
 tered its spacious halls, treading carefully its velvet carpet, and 
 sinking low into its cushioned chairs. 
 
 The home across the way was only a modest looking one, 
 but in that home no language could express more perfectly the 
 happiness therein than the happy hearted, merry faced Bennie 
 and Bessie, who were making tiny Christmas gifts for their 
 friends. 
 
 "Oh, Bessie! Just look at those packages that are being de- 
 livered at five sixty-seven." 
 
 "Let's take a walk across the street, and see if we can see 
 Miss Amy." 
 
 "Good afternoon, Miss Amy," said Bennie, "I guess you will 
 get lots of Christmas presents this year, but can't you come 
 down to the street and talk with us?" 
 
 "Oh, no, I dare not, I might spoil my new dress," said Amy, 
 "and then mamma would scold me." 
 
 "Yes, we always get lots of presents, more than you folks 
 get, I guess. That's what papa says, and he says we have nicer 
 things than you folks, too, and that I mustn't play with poor 
 
 29 
 
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 children, cause they might give me a bad influence. But I wish 
 «ometimcs I was poor myself when I want to play awfully bad, 
 cause poor children don't seem to spoil their clothes so easily." 
 
 "Yes, you do get lots of nice things," says Bennie, "but 
 mamma said we shouldn't mind, for probably our home was 
 happier than yours, cause your papa was never home till late, 
 »nd your mamma was always dressed up, and goes calling, and 
 gives big dinners, and never even has time on Sundays to go 
 to church or take you children to Sunday school." 
 
 'S en I dest says to mamma, "Don't you spose Amy's papa 
 an' mamma needs to do to Sunny school like we'ns do?" said 
 Bessie. 
 
 An' she said, "Every body ought to go to Sunny school; an* 
 every body ought to ask God to tenz 'ere hearts, an' keep'm 
 pure. An' tenz, means to wash. I know it does, tuz mamma 
 «aid so. So your papa needs to wash his heart, dat's wot he 
 does, an' maybe white-wash it, too, for all I knows, tuz dat's the 
 way we cleanses our ceilins, that's wot we do." 
 
 "Oh, hush up, Bessie," said Bennie, "but still I'll bet one 
 thing, Miss Amy, you can't tell why we celebrate Christmas, 
 can you?" 
 
 The millionaire closed his office and returned home un- 
 usually early that evening, which enabled him to have a brief 
 talk with Amy and Archie, and listen to the events of the day, 
 after which he sent them to bed. 
 
 He then started toward the parlor, to see that the splendid 
 tree looked as beautiful as he had anticipated, but turned about, 
 swearing vengeance on Mrs. Mason across the way. "I'll show 
 her if I have any need of whitewash or not; and why. We cele- 
 brate Christmas because everybody else does." 
 
 But that night, as he lay on his downy bed, and closed his 
 eyes he fell into a restless sleep and in his vision it seemed that 
 the morning looked so beautiful as he started on a search for 
 gold. Coin and nuggets seemed to roll up before him. 
 
 On and on he went until his sack was almost full, traveling 
 nigged roads, climbintr up steep hills, and crossing tiny rivu- 
 icts on his way, but they seemed as nothing when in search of 
 gold. But all at once he began to grow tired, and looking 
 around, he saw black clouds in the sky, and the sun was fast 
 
 30 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 sinking in the west, and he so far from home. He turned to re 
 trace his steps, but the hills seemed to be like mountains, and 
 the small streams swollen into large rivers. 
 
 On he went, until faint and weary, he reached the last 
 stream to cross, but it had grown to a large river, a bridge was 
 built across it, and as he approached, a gate-keeper reached out 
 his hand for toll, but his sack of gold was only drawn closer 
 to him. 
 
 "To pass this gate, you must pay. You have been too long 
 in search of your precious treasures; you have wasted too much 
 of your valuable time; and to pass this gate with your gold, you 
 must pay toll." 
 
 The gate-keeper reached out his hand, but he shook his 
 head. His arguments were too long in trying to pass with his 
 gold, that the keeper at last said: "The hour is now past," and 
 locked the gate. 
 
 *T must reach home! My home is lighted and warm and 
 loved ones are looking for me. I will not stay out in the ap- 
 proaching storm — I will try to find a narrow place and leap 
 across," But the keeper turned back and said: "H you leap 
 man, it will be your fatal leap, and you will be lost." Just then 
 the wind came whistling over and around the rocks, and seemed 
 to say (representing the wind) : "Your doom is before you, 
 man" and the sun v/as almost sunken in the west and the clouds 
 grew blacker and blacker, and he not so near his beautiful home 
 as in the morning. And again a shrill whistle from the wind, 
 and such mournful, doleful sounds, seemed to screech and 
 groan (representing wind) : "This will be your fatal leap, and 
 you will be lost, man, lost forever!" 
 
 But he gripped his sack, held his breath, and gave the awful 
 plunge, and fell — down — on the floor by the side of his bed. 
 
 When he opened his eyes it was a lovely Christmas day, with 
 all his beautiful surroundings, but his wife was gazing on him 
 with bewilderment. "Thank God 'twas only a dream, wife ; thank 
 God 'twas only a dream ! Wife, all these years we have been 
 blessed with increasing wealth, but my time has been so taken 
 up with it that I had almost forgotten my early teachings at my 
 mother's knee, until that dear little Bennie across the way asked 
 our Amy about Christmas day, which I had never taken time to 
 
 31 
 
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 explain to her, only bringing her each year loads of presents and 
 making sure that our children had more than any other children 
 around. Wife, I need not a Joseph to interpret my dream, for 
 I well see when I left my mother's knee I was nearer my heavenly 
 home than I am now. My life as I started out in the morning 
 was bright, and has been blessed through years, but as I gaze 
 at the sun, already passed the zenith, soon to sink below the 
 horizon of my life, black clouds seem to threaten me and the 
 wind from down the mountain side, and around the rocks, and in 
 the tree tops, seem to say : "Man, go back to the path in which 
 you first started, live a different life, for it is not all of life 
 to live in this world." 
 
 Let us lay all pride, selfishness and love for riches aside, 
 while we teach our children the true meaning of this lovely Christ- 
 mas day. Let us send for Bennie and Bessie, also a lovely tribute 
 to Mrs. Mason and make this the brightest Christmas of our lives. 
 
 Judge not all those in mansions stately, 
 As having happiness serene, 
 
 For some times the most wretched life 
 Is hidden by a lovely screen, 
 
 While a purer, nobler one 
 
 May shed forth but one faint gleam. 
 
 This story may only be a fancied day-dream, but feeling that 
 it reached not too far into the world, but that we may glean 
 from it sufficient to keep our lives, both young and old (as we 
 gaze at the sun fast sinking toward the horizon of our days) 
 ever as perfect and lovely as a rose, full blown. 
 
 DOUGHNUTS. 
 
 "Well! well! Good morning, Hezekiah, where on earth are 
 you going, all dressed up so early in the morning?" 
 
 "Good morning, sir. I'm going over to Bill Simpson's to get 
 his horse and buggy." 
 
 "Get his horse and buggy this early in the morning, hey? 
 Must be something in the wind?" 
 
 "You just bet there is, sir; you'd think there was if you wuz 
 
 me." 
 
 32 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 "Why, Hezzy, you ain't going to get married?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, that's just what I am; I'm going ter marry the best 
 woman on earth, 'cept my mother." 
 
 "The best woman on earth except your mother ? Why, you don't 
 know what your talking about, I've got the best woman on earth 
 myself for my wife, Hezzy, but where did you find her, may I ask?" 
 
 "Why, yes ! She's John Phillips' hired girl, Angelina Beatrice 
 McCoy; and she's as purty as a picter, and smart, I'll tell you; 
 I'll just bet John Phillips' folks '11 miss her when she's gone, and 
 they'll learn somethin' another time." 
 
 "But where did you get acquainted with her, I'd like to know, 
 Hezzy; you must have been fortunate, indeed." 
 
 "Indeed I was ; I wuz a workin' over to John Phillips', mowin' 
 their lawn, 'n trimmin' their trees, 'n fixin' their fence and such 
 like, and when I came round to the kitchen door to ask fur some 
 nails ter fix the fence, I was completely struck with her purty 
 red hair and brown eyes, that's Angelina's, fur she come to the 
 door and while she wuz gettin' the nails, I kept a smellin', 'n a- 
 smellin' somethin' good, and finally I seen a big dish of doughnuts 
 that she'd just cooked settin' on a table, and I says, just to have 
 something to say : "Did you cook them doughnuts ; they smell 
 purty good !" 
 
 "Yes, I just got through fryin' them," says she, "would you 
 like to have a sample?" 
 
 "A-hem ! Why, yes. Say, I wouldn't mind havin' one, I'm 
 tolerably fond of '*em any time a day, and when one is hungry 
 they go still better. What time is it, anyway, Miss, er, er, what's 
 your name?" 
 
 "My name's Angelina Beatrice McCoy," says she, "and it's 
 'leven o'clock, and I must be gettin' dinner." 
 
 "So I just took a big bite out of my doughnut and says, 'Well, 
 now, Angelina, this doughnut's pretty good and Til just take an- 
 other, if you don't mind ; a woman who can make ez good doughnuts 
 ez these is worth something to any man'." 
 
 "Oh, thank you," says she, "I don't often get such compli- 
 ments as these. But I can make better ones than these is," says 
 she, blushin', kinder like. "If you don't believe it, come round to 
 the kitchen door next Friday morning, when I'll be a fryin' 
 some more, and I'll show you." 
 
 33 
 
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 "So you bet your life I din't ferget the date, and you jest 
 bet you I got myself round to that kitchen door. And she says, 
 'Come right on in/ and she told me ter sit down on the tater-tate, 
 ter one side the kitchen door, on the porch, and then she brought 
 out a big tray, with doughnuts on, and you'd just oughter seen 
 them doughnuts! Why, she can jest make 'em all shapes und sizes, 
 and fix 'em all up so's you wouldn't knov/ they wuz any relation 
 to each other. 
 
 "Why, she had 'em twisted and doubled, and tied in single 
 knots, and bow-knots, and double bow-knots, and doughnuts with 
 holes in 'em, and round doughnuts as looks like snowballs, and 
 doughnuts covered with sugar, and frosting, and cocoanut, and, O, 
 I don't know what all; but the best of all, she had a big chain 
 of doughnuts all linked together, and cooked, and sugared, with- 
 out breakin' a one of 'em, and she just brought it and wound 
 it kinder round my neck, and) says, This is for you, so's you can 
 keep right on a workin' and a eatin' at the same time.' 
 
 "Well, now,' says I, 'Angelina, these beat anything I ever saw; 
 and a woman who can do such workin' and designin' is worth 
 a whole lot to any man. And,' says I, 'ain't you be tired, and she 
 says, "May be I am." So says I, 'sit down on the tater-tate and 
 rest yourself a little. It's no use fer a woman to work all the 
 time; if I had a woman that could cook such good doughnuts 
 as these are, I'd just tell her to sit down and rest herself a 
 little every once in a while, and she sat down side of me and 
 just as we got to talkin' pretty good, says I, 'Hush — sh — I thought I 
 heard something — "Hezekiah ! Hezekiah !" 'Sh — ,' says I, and 
 then I heard Mrs. Phillips a callin' to her little girl from the 
 front porch, 'Dottie! Dottie! do try to find Hezekiah and tell 
 him to remove this screen for me, I can't imagine where he coultj 
 have gotten to in so short a time, for I saw him very recently/ 
 
 '"All right, mother," said Dottie. 
 
 " *Ho ! ho I ho ! mother, come here quick, te-he-he. Just peep 
 round the corner of that porch,' said Dottie. 'Hezekiah ez having 
 a tater-tate with Angelina.' 
 
 "Indeed/ says Mrs. Phillips. 
 
 "'Bout that time I jumped up and says, 'At your service, Mrs. 
 Phillips/ and she sort of serious like, says, "Please remove this 
 screen for me. I am indeed sorry to have you thus intrude on 
 
 34 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 Angelina's time, and I shall call Mr. Phillips' attention to the fact 
 when he returns this afternoon.' 
 *' 'Sorry, indeed,' says I. 
 
 "Sorry fer her I wuz,— but I slipped back to the kitchen door 
 and says, T guess I'm going ter get discharged, Angelina, fer 
 talkin' to you; but you meet me down at the garden gate at 
 eight o'clock this evening and we'll settle this matter right up, 
 fer I know it's love at first sight.' 
 
 '"All right,' says she, 'if you go, I'll go, too.' 
 "So when Mr. Phillips came home, he said ez big ez pie, 'Hello, 
 Hezekiah, I am surprised at your conduct, this morning, and that 
 you should intrude on Angelina's time.' 
 " 'I'm surprised, myself,' says I. 
 
 " 'Angelina is a very good maid, and I cannot allow anyone 
 trying to woo her away, for we really could not get along with- 
 out her.' 
 
 "'That's right,' says I, 'she's worth a whole lot to any man.' 
 " 'I shall not need your services longer, and I advise you 
 hereafter to keep away from my kitchen door.' 
 
 '"Thank you,' says I, 'I'll do that hereafter, sir.' 
 " 'It's a mighty good thing,' says I to myself, 'thet I've got a 
 kitchen door of my own.' 
 
 "So Angelina came down to the gate to meet me that even- 
 ing and vv^e jest walked over to the park, and we jest sat down 
 and talked the matter over, and it's all settled now, and I'm ter 
 get Bill Simpson's horse and buggy and drive over to John Phillips' 
 gate and Angelina will meet me there at eight o'clock, and we're 
 goin' ter go and get married." 
 
 "Eight o'clock! Your conversation's mighty interesting, but 
 great stars, it's a quarter till eight now, Hezzy." 
 
 "Quarter till eight, O, spare me. But I'll get there on time 
 if there ain't no breath left in me, fer a woman who can cook 
 such good doughnuts es Angelina Beatrice McCoy is worth a 
 whole lot to any man." 
 
 And away he started on his errand of joy. 
 "Hezekiah ! Hezekiah !" I called after him, "if you are late tell 
 Angelina I am to blame." 
 
 But he waved his hand and answered, "Needn't worry, you bet 
 your worth I'll get there on time, yet." 
 
 And — he did. 
 
 35 
 
OLD BUFFY. 
 
 "Before you go to your work, Nathan, I do wish you would 
 go out to the hen-house, and in the furtherest pen, catch old 
 Buffy, and kill her for me. It seems I am almost swamped with 
 work today, bein's Mrs. Don't Think and her children's been visit- 
 ing here nearly a week, and I don't believe there's a thing in its 
 place in the whole house; and " 
 
 "Going to have more company, Rebecca? 
 
 "Well, if you are, for the land's sake, don't ask me to stop 
 my work and change my duds, and try to look prim, for I just 
 ain't got the time." 
 
 "No, no, Nathan, it's our Ladies' Aid Society that's going to 
 have a doin's, and I am to furnish a chicken pie, and cold cabbage, 
 and butter, and biscuits, and " 
 
 "And what else?" said good old Nathan, dropping himself down 
 into the rocking chair near by, having fairly lost his breath. 
 
 "Well, not much else, Nathan, but I wish you would hustle 
 around and kill that 'ere hen; the water's been a bilin' away in 
 the teakettle for I don't know how long, and it seems I just can't 
 go and catch old Buffy, good faithful old Buffy; we've had her so 
 many years — she's been such a pet — and I got sort of attached to 
 her, and I just ain't got the face to do it myself. You know 
 she's the only chick we hatched from that $5.00 setting of eggs 
 we sent for, out in Ingiana, and we thought she was a beauty 
 until we got that judging poultryman to come down and size 
 her up, and he said she had feathers on her legs where she 
 hadn't ought to have them; so I've just kept her as a sort of re- 
 membrance of the $5.00, and the extra feathers; but there's noth- 
 ing too good for our Ladies' Aid Society, and they app'inted me 
 as one of the committee to help get up this supper, so I shan't 
 be one to back out on a chicken pie, er anything else, when they 
 give me sich an honor; it's the first committee I was ever on, and 
 to tell the truth, I didn't know what to do, so I just set kinder 
 quiet; and let the rest do the plannin'. But you know I ain't be- 
 longed very long; but I'll tell you, I do enjoy tendin' the meetin's; 
 and you know when Uncle Josh Long died, he'd a been buried 
 and we'd never known it if I hadn't a heard it at the Ladies' Aid 
 Society, bein's you don't believe in telephones. And when Nancy 
 
 36 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 Jones was married, we'd a never known till after the honeymoon 
 was over, if I hadn't a heard it at our Ladies' Aid Society, you 
 know that? And I do enjoy these suppers, too; it makes one 
 feel sort of dignerfied to wait on some one else's husband at the 
 table, and have him tell you 'Your biscuits and chicken pie's good.' 
 Why, it sort er raises one right up off the floor, when you ain't 
 used to hearin' sich compliments at home. And then it is sich a 
 recreation, too, to stand around, or run around, waitin' on the 
 table, until one nearly drops down dead. Well, Nathan! Nathan! 
 do hurry, kill that hen, or I'll have to fill that kettle again !" 
 
 (Pause.) 
 
 "There ! Becca, there's your hen !" 
 
 "Dear old Buffy, I know this seems like a downright shame, 
 and sort of cruel to kill you, but there's nothing too good fer our 
 Ladies' Aid Society. And you, Nathan, you're a dear good man 
 fer killin' her fer me, so I'll tell you what I'll do. I've been a- 
 thinkin' of this here event fer some time, so I've been a-savin' 
 some of old Buffy's eggs, and I'll give 'em to you, and you can 
 take them to the store and git the money fer 'em and that will 
 pay fer our chicken pie suppers tonight " 
 
 "Pay fer our suppers, Rebecca? Rebecca, what are you doing; 
 taking that chicken pie, and cold cabbage, and biscuits, and butter, 
 and what else, and then pay fer a little piece of our own chicken 
 pie? Be you robbin' Peter to pay Paul?" 
 
 "Now look here, Nathan, you don't seem to understand; you 
 are getting a bargain when you get a twenty-five cent meal fer 
 fifteen cents, and you are always a-lookin' fer bargains, and then 
 you are helping our society along. We keep a sort of surplus bank 
 account to help the church along, and when some of the church 
 members advises getting a new carpet, or new planner, or repairin' 
 something old, they generally honor us and ask us the first ones 
 to contribute ; and if we have money in our treasury, the business 
 fairly booms ; but when our money's gone, the question's generally 
 settled. But now, Nathan, I'm sorry, if you don't quite under- 
 stand, but I jest can't stand and argy and explain any longer; I 
 -must get to work, fer old Buffy needs her time to cook, fer she 
 ain't no spring chicken any more, I'll tell you that. And now, Na- 
 than, I've never refused to cook a meal fer you in my life, you 
 Icnow that, but I'll say now, there jest ain't goin' to be any 
 
 Z1 
 
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 supper cooked at this here house tonight, so you jest hustle 
 around with your work, and change your shirt and trousers, and put 
 on a stiff collar, and go with me to the Ladies' Aid Society sup- 
 per tonight, and get a twenty-five cent supper fer fifteen cents. And, 
 Nathan, you'll be the happiest man there, when you realize you are 
 helping a good cause along. I'll admit we do manoeuver some, but 
 if any honest scheme slips past our Ladies' Aid Society, it's be- 
 cause it ain't worth trying. No, indeed, Nathan, I wouldn't go 
 back on our old Ladies' Aid Society, no-sir-ee ! Not if it takes 
 the last hen on the place." 
 "Poor Old Buffy!" 
 
 AUNT MARIA'S FIRST MOVING PICTURE SHOW. 
 
 "Come right in, Jane, I'm so glad to see you! 
 "Lay off your bunnit, and take this here easy rocking chair, 
 and make yourself comfortable, for I've got so much to tell you. 
 It's been so long since I seen you, and I've seen so much I 
 guess I won't hardly know where to begin. 
 
 "But I almost forgot to ask you, how is Henry and the 
 children? dear little souls. 
 
 "Well, are they? I'm so glad; and old aunt Matilda, how's 
 she, too? I'll declare! I've been so busy between times with 
 my work, since I come home, a brushin' and tryin' to clean my 
 clothes; I'll just tell you the truth, it's hard on dresses in town. 
 
 "My best alpaca never had such a wear on it before, and 
 you know I've had it a good many years; but you know I had 
 the best time! I've just been a-dyin' to tell you (as Marguer- 
 ite would say) about my trip. Marguerite, that's my nephew's 
 wife, where I was visiting; you never met her, did you? 
 
 "Well, she's the sweetest little woman I ever saw for a city 
 girl; and she's so pleasant, it makes a body feel good just to be 
 around her; and still everything seems so different from what 
 I've been used to; and she calls her children dearies, and honeys 
 and sweethearts, and the like, and then she says, Mr. Miles, 
 when she talks to her man, instid of John. Why, 'twould make 
 me feel as though I was ten miles away from home to have her 
 use such terms to me; but then he calls her Mrs. Miles, too; and 
 
 38 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 then the children say 'Father' and 'Mother,' when they talk to 
 their pa and ma. It does sound kinda hifalutin, anyway, when 
 you ain't used to it. We used to say to our folks, just plain 
 pap and mam. 
 
 "Then the styles changed so we taught our children to say 
 pa and ma; then our grandchildren said papa and mamma to 
 their folks, and now I notice the still younger generation say 
 father and mother, or daddy and mother. But how times do 
 change, anyway! 
 
 "It seems a person will soon have to have a flyin* machine, 
 ready to fly in, or an automobile in the front yard, with a chif- 
 fonier a sittin* on the front seat, ready to go any minnit, if you 
 want to keep up with the times, and then you wouldn't always 
 be sure of doin' it. 
 
 "Did I see the flyin' machines go up when I was over to the 
 park the other day? Well, now, I should say I did! But the 
 first thing I wanted to tell you about was the movin' picture 
 show, cause somehow that interested me more than the flyin' 
 machines, cause I don't know as I ever care to travel that way, 
 anyhow. 
 
 "One evening Marguerite said, 'Now, aunt, you lay down 
 your knittin* and change your dress and I'll take you out to a 
 moving picture show this evening. Better put on your bril- 
 lianteen,* she said ; so of course I had to put on my alpaca again. 
 I didn't say nothin', but just thought, if you think its brilliant- 
 een, why, I'll jest let you think so, but it's alpaca, just the same. 
 Well, I put on my alpaca, and my Sunday hat, and hobbled 
 down stairs. I'll tell you, I ain't used to having the bedrooms 
 all up stairs, and I got pretty well tired and stiffened up, climin' 
 them steps, but I'm gettin* sort of limbered up now, since I come 
 home, but when I came down. Marguerite said: 'Here, aunt, is 
 a little silk scarf to put on your head, so you better leave your 
 hat to home; you'll feel more comfortable, and then you'll not be 
 so apt to get the headache.* But I'll jest say now, she needn't 
 felt no concern fer that, fer when we got to the show, there was 
 such a playin* music, and so much a goin' on, I jest didn't have 
 time to think if I had the headache or not. There was a man on 
 the stage a standin' before a big glass a dressin' and a brushin* 
 his hair, and a puttin' on a collar, and a necktie and cuffs, and 
 
 39 
 
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 perfume and ring, and I don't know what all; and it looked jest 
 as natural as life! Only it didn't look natural fer a man to hurry- 
 around and dress so fast, outside the penitentiary, or a fire de- 
 partment; and then he looked as though he was a walkin' out 
 the door, and then about that time there was a whole dozen 
 women a comin' towards him, and all had newspapers in their 
 hands that said 'Wanted — b. wife.' And they all walked right 
 up to him and showed him the paper, and then he run, and they 
 run after him; then he kept a runnin', and they a runnin' after 
 him; and then he run in a house, and out of the house and 
 climbed a big hill, and then run down again, he a runnin' ahead, 
 and them a followin', and then he jumped a picket fence, and 
 they all jumped after him, and one stylish lookin' old woman, 
 she was so fat and clumsy, always tumbled down, or got caught 
 on the picket fence or something, when she tried to keep up 
 with the rest. 
 
 "Why, it was just as natural as life, only it wasn't natural 
 at all. It jest made me mad to see such a thing. Of course 
 there is more folks than I ever thought there was a livin'; I 
 seen that when I got to town, on'st, but I don't believe there 
 are twelve women a livin' that are so crazy as to run after one 
 man like that, and all at on'st. I jest know there ain't; and the 
 more I think of it the madder I git, and I'll tell you I was 
 glad when that man run and jumped plum into a pond of water, 
 and the women after him, and they was all drowned; and I got 
 so excited I jest had to shake my fist after *em, and I says 
 kinder to myself, 'It jest serves you right. The whole unlucky 
 number of you, if you are so crazy as that comes to.' Then Mar- 
 guerite says, 'Come, aunt, don't get so excited!' 
 
 "And I says, 'Well, it was just as natural as life and it did 
 seem kinder hard hearted to see 'em all drowned like that, and 
 me a sittin' here and seein' them drowned, and not try to help 
 'em out.' 
 
 "Then Marguerite says: 'But, aunt, it ain't really so; you 
 understand it's only a picter.' 
 
 " 'Well,' says I, 'that may be so, but the picter Is as natural 
 as life lookin', only It ain't natural fer women to run after a 
 man like that' And I began to kinder cool down a little bit, 
 
 40 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 and says I, 'If it was that many men, a runnin' after one woman, 
 I'd have been better satisfied.' 
 
 "I'd jest a bet, if I was used to bettin', that it was a man who 
 got up that picter, and I'd like to know who he is, so if he ever 
 comes around our place, I'll make a lively movin' picter of him. 
 But the more I think of it after all, the more I am impressed, 
 and I've learned a lesson that if ever such a thing as that would 
 ever really happen around where I was, I would try not to be so 
 hard hearted, as to sit down and let 'em all drown, but I'd 
 try to rescue some of the poor souls, if it was no more than the 
 unlucky number, and make a lady of her; fer it's a sight easier 
 sometimes fer us to follow a crowd, if they are all goin' in one 
 direction, if it is the wrong way, than to go the other direction 
 alone, even if it is the right way. But it is a burnin' shame, any- 
 way, fer a man to get up some of the kind of picters they do, 
 jest to make folks believe women are fools when they aint. 
 
 "But must you be a goin'? I'm not near through yet, I'd like 
 to tell you about some of the other picters I seen, and the flyin* 
 machines and sich like. 
 
 "This is a pretty big world, after all, and it's still a growin*, 
 I could see that when I got to the city, when I hadn't been 
 there afore, for well nigh thirty years. 
 
 "Well, good bye; best respects to Henry and the children. 
 But I'll be over some of these days, and tell you some more." 
 
 SAMMY'S EXPERIENCES. 
 
 I've just been borrowing a peck of trouble, when it isn't any 
 use for me to borrow anything at all, for I've got money enough 
 to buy everything I need, so long as it lasts, for you see, when 
 Aunt Nancy died, she had been richer than rich, and having no 
 direct heirs, she willed the bulk of her money to her brother 
 John's "spoiled baby of the family." That was me, and they all 
 agreed right away, that was me, for all the rest of the family were 
 so dignified, they would rather lose the fortune than be called the 
 "spoiled baby"; but I had been called that so often that I didn't 
 mind it, and as none of the rest disputed my rights, I had no 
 further trouble on that account. But one thing I didn't like to 
 
 41 
 
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 hear them say was: "Sammy's in trouble again. It's too bad that 
 so many families have one black sheep among them." 
 
 You see, Aunt Nancy had lots of confidence in me, and gave 
 me the income from my money to do just as I pleased with until 
 I was twenty-one years old, when I should receive the remainder 
 of what was coming to me, or the principal itself. And I guess it 
 was a pretty good thing she didn't let me have it all right away, 
 for I run most mighty short sometimes as it was. 
 
 You see, I had just finished high school, and they were all pretty 
 proud of me, for they always said I was a smart youngster, any- 
 way, and now I had so much money I could make my mark in the 
 world. Well, I guess I did. A good many of them, and some 
 pretty bad and crooked ones, too. Then Sister Sue, and Brothers 
 Grove and Thede and Will, they'd just line me up and say: 
 "You'll disgrace us all to death yet." 
 
 Then daddy and mother would say: "He's just a boy yet, and 
 he*s got lots to learn." 
 
 The first thing I did after I got my first interest money was 
 to put a ten in my pocket. I mean ten one dollar bills and walked 
 down street. Right in front of me walked two of our town's 
 largest business men and they were both smoking. So I just says 
 to myself, I've got to learn to smoke if I want to be anybody at 
 all, so I just stepped into the drug store and said I wanted a 
 cigar; then I thought, what's the use, if I'm going to learn to 
 smoke I'll just take a whole box while I'm about it. So I displayed 
 my ten one dollar bills and the old Dutchman in there stepped up 
 to me and says: "What for you going to do mit all dem ce-gars?" 
 
 "I'm going to learn to smoke them, you old duffer," says I. 
 
 "Vel den, I shoost pet you fife toUars you ton't skmoke no 
 two, mit out you shoost so seek get, you vil know nix vot to do 
 yourself mit." 
 
 "I'll go you five ones I can smoke two of them and then walk 
 as straight as you can," says I. 
 
 I began to smoke while we walked down the street together; 
 I got rid of number one and felt like a millionaire. 
 
 Then came number two, but I began to get sick at my stomach. 
 I grew faint, my head swam, I reeled about, I thought, as I 
 rolled my eyes heavenward, O Lord, deliver me. Then suddenly 
 my eyes rested on a big policeman coming my wav. I tried the 
 
 42 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 harder to walk straight, when all at once I reeled again and found 
 myself lying across an iron hitching rail, trying to relieve my- 
 self, when the policeman grabbed me by the collar and without 
 further ceremony, sent in an alarm and soon had me riding in 
 the patrol — arrested for drunkenness. When fairly seated, I looked 
 back, and could see that Dutchman and could hear him calling 
 out : "I shoost knew it ; geef me mine fife tollars, son-ee." 
 
 Well, that was number one. Number two, and then number 
 three followed, and every time I did something my folks thought 
 I should not have done, then Sister Susan and Brothers Grove 
 and Theodore and William would line me up again and say : "That 
 boy will disgrace us to death yet," and then daddy and mother 
 would say : "He's just a boy yet, and has lots to learn." 
 
 Well, I managed to learn to smoke a little, and chew tobacco, 
 and drink a little, and gamble once in a while when I was run- 
 ning short of funds, though I usually managed to come out still 
 shorter, and got so used to getting lined up that I didn't seem 
 to care. 
 
 But one day our family was invited out to luncheon, and of 
 course they couldn't exclude me. It was my mother's old schoolmate 
 who invited us to meet her children when they were all at home. 
 
 Well, I met Amy, and she seemed to me like a revelation from 
 heaven. She was my dream and a beauty; I was completely gone. 
 1 asked permission to call on her again while she was at home 
 on her vacation. 
 
 She says : "You are very congenial, I am sure, but you smoke, 
 do you not? Or am I deceived?" 
 
 "Yes, I smoke some times," says I, "but for your sake I will 
 never do so again," says I. 
 
 "Then you chew tobacco, do you not?" says she. "I read i| 
 on your lips." 
 
 "Yes," says I, "I have chewed, Amy, but for your sake I will 
 never do so again." 
 
 And so on, until my complete roll of dishonors had been re- 
 hearsed. 
 
 "I surrender them all for your sake, Amy, for you are my 
 mind's picture." 
 
 "I have also fancied my ideal," says she, "and you might be 
 able to compete for my hand some day, could you truly paint your 
 
 43 
 
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 picture white. I am going to college," says she, "to remain for 
 four years, and when I return, if you can prove your habits fault- 
 less for that entire length of time, I will then permit you to call 
 on me," says she. 
 
 Now some of you may wonder if I am such a dummy as to 
 be taking Keeley cures and waging battles with myself just for the 
 sake of a girl. 
 
 Why, when a fellow's dead gone in love with a girl, he will 
 do anything in the world for her. 
 
 All I'm sorry for is, that I hadn't met Amy, or some other 
 girl of her ideal, before I had formed the habits. And I now 
 wish every girl in the land would band together and stand for 
 such morals, and they would do more to overthrow the wicked- 
 ness and miseries of this land than any other power I know of. 
 And now, if I must reap, and thresh, and consume all the wild 
 oats I have sown, I'll have a pretty busy job of it for the next 
 tour years. But Amy's worth the whole of it. 
 
 But as I said at the beginning. What worries me is, if some 
 other fellov/ should fall in love with Amy before the four years 
 come to an end, why, then I could only console myself that there 
 will be one less sinner to meet the judgment day. 
 
 And while Sister Sue and Brothers Grove, and Thede, and Will 
 may say : "This lesson serves you right," daddy and mother will 
 note the change and say : "He's growing to manhood now and 
 he's learning something." 
 
 I never did blame Samuel as much as I did the money Nancy 
 left him, for when a fellow has to work for what he spends at 
 wild oats sowin' time, he don't usually spend quite so much," says 
 they. 
 
 But, however, I hope to be able to keep my promises to Amy 
 for the next four years, and ever after that, regardless of what 
 my prospects for the future m?.y be, tho' I may have more than 
 one peck of trouble to encounter. But in the meantime, if you 
 chance to see Amy, please say to her in my behalf : "That you 
 are sure Samuel will overcome his bad habits, for he's surely try- 
 ing hard." 
 
 44 
 
HAYSEEDS. 
 
 Did you ever walk along the street in some large town and 
 hear some bystander call out, "hayseed"? 
 
 Well, if you have, you know about how I felt the first time 
 I heard it called out to me. 
 
 My wife and I were walking along the street of a certain 
 town on our way to Amy's wedding. 
 
 I looked down at my clothes, but could not see a hay seed; 
 then looked at my wife, who was already beginning to turn 
 red in the face and looking at me also. 
 
 Says I, "Do you see any hay seeds on my coat collar, 
 Sarah?" And at the same time took my hat off, and looked it 
 over. 
 
 Says she, "Not a hay seed, Jonathan." 
 
 If I were alone, I would have thought it were my eyes that 
 could not see well, but I felt assured that not even a hay seed 
 could escape the keen eye of my wife, who had called me to the 
 door and brushed and brushed my clothes with a whisk broom 
 when I was already to start, until I could almost at that time 
 feel the broom splints around my neck and ears, when I made a 
 promise to myself, that if brush she would, I would buy her the 
 finest and best clothes brush I could find for a Christmas 
 present. 
 
 "Sarah, what could that man have meant?" says I. 
 
 "I don't know," says she, "but I imagine he thinks we are 
 from the country." 
 
 "That's just it," says I, but it's no disgrace if we are, tho' 
 I don't see how he can tell, do you? But I will look about me 
 a little today. 
 
 Well, when we got to sister Katherine's, by the way, sis- 
 ter Katherine married a gentleman from town, who turned out 
 to be a big contractor, and had everything in what they call 
 "style" now-a-days, and it was her oldest daughter who was 
 married that day. Well, when we got there, Katherine and her 
 family were very, very glad to see us, so they said, for we had 
 not been there for a long, long time. 
 
 But when we went into the parlor, I'll .admit now that we 
 did present a striking appearance. Sarah wore her well kept 
 
 45 
 
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 alpaca dress, tight skirt, rather short with draperies, trimmed 
 with ball fringe, and wore side-lace shoes which she had kept 
 for Sundays for a number of years, and her hair was drawn tight 
 and sleek; if you had seen her brush her hair that morning, you 
 would have guessed she was trying to look the primest woman 
 there. I wore my broadcloth wedding suit, which I had kept 
 for special occasions for the past twenty-five years. 
 
 Everybody turned and looked at us; then began smiling so 
 pleasantly I thought they were going to be very sociable, more 
 so than I had anticipated, for I had heard that town folks were 
 so "stuck up." Then when we sat at the table, just because I 
 took my turkey bone between my fingers, and ate my mash po- 
 tato with my knife, and took my pie in my hand, they kept 
 smiling at me so much that it made me nervous; and as a conse- 
 quence I upset my coffee, when I was pouring it into my saucer; 
 some of them s-m-i-1-e-d out loud; then Sarah nudged me, and 
 I says, "Excuse us," and we got up from the table. 
 
 Sarah got along better in the company than I did, for 
 with her keen eye, she kept casting side glances, and as the 
 rest led she followed. Well, the following day after the wed- 
 ding, when we came to our own table, says I, "Good land, 
 Sarah, ain't we going to have anything to eat?" 
 
 "Yes, Jonathan," says she, "but I'm going to serve our 
 meals in courses, so when we go away, we get sort of used to 
 it, and it won't be so difficult for us to appear as others do, for 
 to tell the truth, Jonathan, I felt sort of behind the times at 
 the wedding." 
 
 The first she had mentioned her feelings to me. Well, she 
 had the victuals on a side table, and as she wasn't used to it, and 
 as I practiced eating with my fork, and Sarah kept showing me 
 the proper way to hold my spoon, it took so long that as I 
 looked out of the window, I saw that the cattle had thrown down 
 a part of the barnyard fence, and were in the wheat field. So I 
 says, "It is no use, Sarah," for I had to go without my cake 
 and coffee. 
 
 Well, about that time, the rural mail was established, and I 
 subscribed for a fashion paper for Sarah, and two farm papers 
 and a daily for myself. And after reading a few of them, I 
 made up my mind, that we were not what you would call pros- 
 
 46 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 perous farmers; and while Sarah was changing the ruffles and 
 tucks, and turning her sleeves bottom side up to get the puffs 
 right, and kept practicing the different ways to dress her hair, 
 I was trying all the fads of farming, some of which proved to 
 be very satisfactory, and some which I soon discarded. But to 
 cover the lapse of a few years, or to make a long story short, 
 that wedding of Amy's was an awakening to us; we had been 
 what most people call slack for the times. 
 
 We soon found it folly to try every fashion, or new idea 
 that was expressed, but by using good judgment along- with our 
 experiments, we are indeed more prosperous and really enjoy 
 life better to see our buildings and fences in good repair, and 
 stock in better condition and when we came home from Elsie's 
 wedding the other day, that's sister Katherine's youngest daugh- 
 ter, I asked Sarah how she felt after attending the wedding? 
 
 "Well," she replied, "I didn't feel nearly so blue as I did 
 at Amy's wedding, altho' I wore a blue dress; and I noticed a 
 stray hay seed on your coat collar, too, but no one else seemed 
 to notice it." 
 
 "Well," says I, "the people didn't smile on me in the old 
 peculiar way, and I came home feeling sort of satisfied with my- 
 self, which is a very good feeling to have, not so much so, how- 
 ever, but that I will still look forward to more improvement." 
 
 Now, I don't make a practice of telling my affairs to every 
 one, but if this will be an awakening to any one else who is 
 taking life in a slack sort of a way, that they may have a chance 
 to brush up a little, before their sister Katherine's daughter's 
 wedding, this, my little experience, I most cheerfully give you. 
 
 47 
 
DIALOGUES 
 
 OLD SONGS. 
 SCENE REPRESENTING A HOME. 
 
 Almira, a young lady, seated at the piano, or organ, plays 
 and sings some suitable popular song. 
 
 The father, seated in an old arm chair, wears a beard, 
 glasses, house slippers, has a heavy cane lying across his lap, 
 pretends to read. He should seem quite feeble throughout. 
 
 While Almira sings, father pretends to read, at times listen- 
 ing to her singing. 
 
 When she finishes, he says to her, "Almira, sing Rock of 
 Ages, or Nearer My God to Thee, or some of the old hymns I 
 love so well." 
 
 Almira gets hymnal, turns to Rock of Ages, and plays and 
 sings it through, rather too fast, and in a thoughtless, careless 
 way, and with little feeling. 
 
 The old man at times listens intently, shakes his head as if 
 disapproving, takes off his glasses, wipes away a tear, then reads 
 again. 
 
 Almira finishes, then starts to play Nearer My God to Thee 
 in the same manner as she played the former. 
 
 As she nears the close of the first stanza, the father drops 
 his paper in his lap, and says, as he brings his cane down upon 
 the floor. "Stop there! Almira, I can't stand it no longer — I 
 just can't stand it." 
 
 Almira stops playing, looks around toward father sort of 
 sarcastically, while her hands rest carelessly at keyboard, and 
 says: "Stand what? What can't you stand? My singing?" 
 
 Father — Now Almira don't get offended at me right away. 
 
 Almira — Well, I shall try hereafter not to disturb you father, 
 if my singing is so nerve straining to you. Hereafter when I 
 feel that I am so full of music, that I just must let loose, and 
 you are about, I can go outside the house, and just pretend 
 to play on the window sill, as I used to do when I was a 
 little girl, and then I can sing as loud and as fast as I wish. 
 
 49 
 
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 Father — Now Almira, I know you are a little quick tem- 
 pered, something like your father used to be when he was a 
 boy, but then you'll get over that, Almira. But you don't 
 know. I just love to hear you sing. Nobody enjoys thet big 
 pianner, thet we worked so hard for, better than mother and me. 
 Almira — Well, what then are you talking about; you ain't 
 really getting childish, I hope? 
 
 Father, slowly — Well, may be I am, Almira, may be I am. 
 I ain't found no fault with the big pianner; nor I ain't found no 
 fault with your voice, Almira; nor I ain't found no fault with 
 thet old hymn, and never will. But if Sarah Adams was here 
 in this house this evening, and would have heard you sing 
 those beautiful consecrated words, in such a sentimental way, 
 I am sure she could not help but weep. Why, Almira, it was 
 enough to make the angels in heaven weep to hear you, and it 
 makes me weep, too, Almira, it makes me weep, too. (Takes 
 out handkerchief and wipes eyes). 
 
 (During this time Almira has dropped her hands in her 
 lap and turned toward her father, listening intently). 
 
 Almira — Well, father, since you take it so seriously, how 
 shall I sing it then? (Father gets up, using his cane to walk 
 with, goes slowly to instrument, and says: "Now Almira play 
 it again and I'll sing with you." (Almira commences to play 
 the tune, Nearer My God to Thee, over. He listens and then 
 says: 
 
 "Not so fast, Almira, not so fast." 
 
 Almira and father then both commence to sing. Father, 
 at first, somewhat trembly, like an old man. They sing to end 
 first stanza. 
 
 Father — now thet's better Almira thet's better. Let's sing 
 thet stanza over again, Almira; but wait, let's get mother to 
 come and help us! "Mother," the old man calls, "come and 
 lend your voice" (mother appears), "and let's sing this old 
 tune right once; and where's Tom, too? Tom, my son?" (Tom 
 appears). "Come let us sing this old song right." (Mother 
 takes off her glasses, and wipes them off, then puts them on 
 again). 
 
 Father — Now are we all ready? Now Almira, play a little 
 slower; put a little more feeling it it. Now let's sing. (They 
 
 50 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 all sing together the first stanza, each singing a different 
 part, having then the four parts represented. They should sing 
 it with much feeling and expression.) 
 
 Father — That's better, Almira, that's better. (They sing the 
 second and third stanzas.) 
 
 Father — Well, that will do first rate. Now let's sing Rock 
 of Ages, Almira, and no offense I hope. (Almira turns to Rock 
 of Ages, and commences to play fast, as she had done the 
 first time she played it.) 
 
 Father — Not so fast, Almira, a little easy, or I can't keep 
 up. I'll warrant Thomas Hastings took his time to compose 
 those beautiful words, if his name is hasty sounding. (They 
 sing first stanza.) 
 
 Father — Thet's good, Almira, thet's good; now go on. 
 (They then sing the next two stanzas.) 
 
 Father — Now, Almira, thet's good; thet suits me first rate; 
 may be when I was younger I sang it faster, too; I don't want 
 to be too hard on the younger folks. Now let's sing one stanza 
 of "Blest Be the Tie That Binds." (Father leans heavily on 
 his cane. Tom notices it, and crosses the floor and brings the 
 old arm chair and places it for the father, close to front and 
 near the piano, and father sits down. Mother and son stand 
 near the chair, and Almira finishes the group at the piano.) 
 
 Father calls to Almira — Almira, that's good! I believe 
 the Lord himself would approve of thet kind of singin', don't 
 you? It makes me feel near to everybody, near to God, and 
 only one step beyond. Somehow I feel happy this evening. 
 Mother, you've run this life's race with me a good many years, 
 and been good to me. Almira. you're good to me, only disposi- 
 tioned a little like your father at times. Tom, you're like your 
 mother, good all the time. I've nothing to complain of — maybe 
 I am a little childish, but let's sing the chorus of "Home, Sweet 
 Home" and then I'll let you go. (They sing the chorus of 
 Home, Sweet Home, followed by a tableau.) 
 
 51 
 
A SISTER'S GOOD ADVICE. 
 
 The following requires two girls, one older than the other, and 
 the older one not over twelve years of age. 
 
 The smaller girl comes on the stage with her doll in her arm, 
 and some ribbons and doll clothes in her hands, or a small basket. 
 She seats herself on a chair, as though about to dress her doll, 
 when purposely (though apparently accidental) she lets its head 
 drop ofif and roll upon the floor. She looks very seriously at her 
 doll and then the head lying upon the floor, then slowly raises her 
 arm to her face and pretends to cry, when the older girl enters 
 and repeats the following, both girls acting their part in accord- 
 ance with the sentiment of the piece: 
 Second Girl : 
 
 What are you crying for, sister! 
 
 Your dollie has just lost her head. 
 Why don't you pick it right up, my dear, 
 
 And put it on, instead. 
 
 (Older girl picks up head, and taking doll in hand, sets it up 
 in younger girl's lap, puts head on and ties a ribbon around the 
 neck in such a manner as to make the head stay on. During the 
 time she continues to recite, not repeating faster than her acting 
 allows her to do.) 
 
 Let's see, now ! Let me help you ! 
 
 There ! We'll just tie this ribbon around, 
 And when people look at that pretty bow 
 
 They'll think it's all perfectly sound. 
 
 There's so many things in this vv^orld of ours 
 
 That must remain unseen. 
 And now, to view her off a way. 
 
 She looks like a little queen. 
 
 Some one told me the other day 
 That Mr. Blank had lost his head, 
 
 52 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 So of course it frightened me terribly, 
 For I feared the poor fellow was dead. 
 
 Oh, how did it happen, and how is he now? 
 
 Says I, but they answered me queer. 
 "Oh, he's all right, you'd not know it now! 
 
 That's nothing unusual, my dear." 
 
 So if the like should happen again, 
 
 For happen again it may, 
 (I heard mamma remark not long ago, 
 
 That "All children must have their day.") 
 
 Then use these words just as you will. 
 In trouble and joy they are true; 
 
 That the tears we shed over matters like this. 
 Will not serve the purpose of glue. 
 
 Now when troubles come like we little folks have, 
 (And those having no troubles are few). 
 
 Don't sit down and cry. Now take my advice. 
 For I'm a year or two older than you. 
 
 53 
 
ON THE FARM. 
 
 Scene represents a city family that has just moved on the farm. 
 The wife is tidying the room when her husband, James, dressed 
 in overalls, blouse, large straw hat, or latest farming costume, 
 enters ; he carries a new tin milk pail on his arm and enters the 
 room in a jolly mood, singing to the tune of Yankee Doodle: 
 
 "I'm going out to milk the cows ; the cows I call my own, 
 sir; Oh excuse me. Madam's better. 
 
 Wife — Our own, sir. 
 
 James — Well, yes. Our own then, dearie. Sings "I'm going 
 out to milk the cows ; The cows we call our own, sir — Madam." 
 Is that better, little wife? 
 
 Wife — Yes, that sounds better, but don't you think it's pretty 
 early to milk yet? The sun is not near down and you have put 
 your team away already; I don't believe it's more than four 
 o'clock yet. I'm thinking you'll have to work later than that or 
 you won't get the crops out in season. 
 
 James — Yes, I've put my team away and I'm going to start 
 in this very first day on the farm by establishing an eight hour 
 system. It's no use working around here from sun up to sun 
 down like some folks I've seen. I've been used to the eight hour 
 in the shop system and I shall insist on it here on the farm and 
 every day* in the year. 
 
 Wife — Well, I hope you will succeed, my dear, but when I 
 used to live on the farm at home it seemed almost impossible to 
 make things go as' you would like to have them at all times. 
 
 James — Well, times are progressing and a person can be a 
 gentleman on the farm as well as in town. But tell me what you 
 think of my appearance, in my overalls, blouse and straw hat. I 
 congratulate myself ; my suit is quite in keeping with my work and 
 won't be nearly so hard to launder as my shop clothes. And 
 then they won't need washing very often. I intend that my 
 clothes can be kept somewhat clean, and that I won't go around 
 looking as dirty as Joe Smith always does ; but then I don't 
 believe his wife washes very often for him. Sings "Good-bye to 
 town, I'm going down to milk our cows tonight, sir — madam 
 (exit). 
 
 Enters Carl (a small boy) laughing and clapping his hands.) 
 
 54 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 Oh, mother! I'se been lookin' at de little pids dwink milk out 
 that tiny little twof and they dest does whee, whee, whee, whee, 
 whee, and then they wuns away from de twof, and don't say please 
 'sense me and after while they jest comes back and dwinks again, 
 and they jest gets their noses all slobbered up. I dess, mother, 
 I'd better take the wash wag, and go out and wipe off their 
 noses, 'cause they don't look nice, so they don't. An' then you'd 
 better make 'em bibs, too, don't you fink so? 
 
 Wife — A pig usually is a pig, Carl, dear, and have not very 
 good manners ; and when they grow to be a hog they remind 
 me very much of some people; their manners do not seem to 
 improve much, 
 
 Carl — Well then, mother, is people ever hods? 
 
 Wife — Do not misunderstand me, Carl. I simply mean that 
 they do not improve much as they get older. 
 
 Carl — Who dets older, mother, the people or the pids? 
 
 Wife — Why, the pigs, of course, Carl. 
 
 Carl — Well, den the old pid is in the pen, eatin' torn; is 
 that what you calls a hod? 
 
 Wife — Yes, dear. 
 
 Carl — Well, then, when they dets older yet, you say, old hod, 
 do you? 
 
 Wife — Yes, dear. 
 
 Carl — Well, den is that a hod, or an old hod? 
 
 Wife — I guess she's just a hog yet, but if she breaks out of 
 the pen and gets into father's clover or cornfield he will be 
 very apt to call her an old hog. 
 
 Carl — Well, the hod was jest a eatin' an' eatin' corn, and I 
 dest poked a stick in a hole in the pen an' she dest dot mad an' 
 says Oi-oi-oi-oi. 
 
 James (enters) — Here, sonny, what did you say you was do- 
 ing? You watch out or that hog will take your head off for you. 
 Say, wife, which side of the cow do you sit on when you milk? 
 
 Wife — I don't milk, dear. 
 
 James — Well, when I milk, then. I sat on the left side and 
 she commenced to kick and wouldn't give her milk down. 
 
 Wife — I presume she is trained to have one sit on the right 
 side, James; try that, she'll give it down, I guess. 
 
 55 
 
BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS 
 
 James — Well, I'll try it again, I thought there was something 
 wrong. (Exit.) 
 
 (Enters Katherine, a little girl, egg in hand.) 
 
 Oh, mother, I've just been having the best time ever. And 
 I seen an old hen go in a box and sit down a while and then 
 pretty soon she came off, and here she had laid an egg. And 
 she just got so excited when she saw me, and commenced 
 to say, cut-cut-cut-ca-daw-cut ; cut-cut-ca-daw-cut. I just says 
 to her, "Look here now, don't get so excited." 
 
 James enters. 
 
 Say, wife, I've been sitting on the right side of that old 
 cow for I don't know how long, and she ain't give a drop of 
 milk down yet. 
 
 Wife — Well, as I told you before, you were strange to 
 her and, perhaps, you will have to be a little cautious. 
 
 James — Cautious ! I ain't done nothing to the old thing ; I 
 just took that old rocking chair out there, and then put the 
 bucket under her, and then sat down with my paper on the right 
 side of her, and just let her have everthing her own way, and she 
 just up and kicked the bucket all over the pasture field. (All 
 laugh but James.) 
 
 James — Well, I don't really see any thing to laugh at, I 
 am sure. 
 
 Wife — Now James, you see that will never do! You must 
 manipulate the udder if you want any milk. 
 
 James — Well, why in the name of common sense, didn't 
 you say so then and not say she would give it down? When 
 you have to work for something that ain't saying it's given 
 to you. (Exit.) 
 
 Katherine — Say mother, and I just went and caught some 
 more hens and held them on the nest, for I don't know how 
 long, and they didn't lay at all, and then I caught that big one 
 with that great big comb and pretty tail, and I thought sure 
 it would lay, but it just fought and tried to pick my eyes out, and 
 it scratched me, too, here on the arm, so I just had to give it up. 
 
 Carl — Say, sis, you wants to watch out for that big old 
 white turkey gobbler, too; I'll tell you he's a brick. About the 
 first thing he did when v^^e'ens come this morning, wuz to go 
 fur me. 
 
 56 
 
AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
 
 Wife — (to Katherne) — Yes dear. 
 
 Carl — And he jest jabbered, and jabbered away, and stwutted 
 awound an I jest says, "Look here, old feller, we've bought 
 you now, an' you don't need to to walk awound here so big 
 feelin*, a talkin' Latin, er Greek, er somefin' else, 'cause I don't 
 unnerstand a fing you says; an' you'se got to show the white 
 fedder, or I'll charge de bayonet, an' 
 
 James — (enters) all splashed with milk, and sweating, hat 
 and clothes disarranged.) 
 
 Here wife, is your cream. Oh, our cream, all separated, 
 that's all there is left, and they say the cream comes last. Here 
 I've been working at that old cow and hour, I guess, and my 
 clothes are all splashed up; the flies will be after me. Say, I 
 don't believe Joe Smith can help getting his clothes so dirty, 
 and maybe his wife does wash for him after all. Here, Kath- 
 erine, strain this cream for your mother. And I see that oldl 
 hog's got out of the pen and is in the clover; and here (takes 
 out watch and sees time,) it's past quitting time now. 
 
 Here, Carl, come help your father get that old hog in the 
 pen. (Exit James.) Carl follows, mimicking his father and 
 singing to Yankee Doodle: 
 
 "I'm done with town, 
 
 I'm going down, 
 
 To get the old hog in — oo!" 
 
 Katherine — Say, mother, I wonder if father is going to 
 like it on the farm? 
 
 Wife — We'll probably determine that sooner, or later, but 
 I imagine he will have a few things to learn, before he can 
 establish an eight-hour system. 
 
 Katherine — And that's just what I've been a thinking, too. 
 
 57 
 
DEC 80 1«l 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 018 407 489 8 
 
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