All That Matters Part 5

It's just as funny as it can be, But my pa doesn't seem old to me.

He doesn't look old, an' he throws a ball, Just like a boy, with the curves an' all, An' he knows the kids by their first names, too, An' says they're just like the boys he knew.

Some of the fellers are scared plumb stiff When their fathers are near 'em an' act as if They wuz doing wrong if they made a noise, But my pa seems to be one of the boys.

It's funny, but, somehow, I never can Think of my pa as a grown-up man.

He doesn't frown an' he doesn't scold, An' he doesn't act as though he wuz old.

He talks of the things I want to know, Just like one of our gang, an' so, Whenever we're out, it seems that he Is more like a pal than a pa to me.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _"His Pa"_

_From a painting by_ M. L. BOWER.]

EXAMPLE

Perhaps the victory shall not come to me, Perhaps I shall not reach the goal I seek, It may be at the last I shall be weak And falter as the promised land I see; Yet I must try for it and strive to be All that a conqueror is. On to the peak, Must be my call--this way lies victory!

Boy, take my hand and hear me when I speak.

There is the goal. In honor make the fight.

I may not reach it but, my boy, you can.

Cling to your faith and work with all your might, Some day the world shall hail you as a man.

And when at last shall come your happy day, Enough for me that I have shown the way.

WINDING THE CLOCK

When I was but a little lad, my old Grandfather said That none should wind the clock but he, and so, at time for bed, He'd fumble for the curious key kept high upon the shelf And set aside that little task entirely for himself.

In time Grandfather pa.s.sed away, and so that duty fell Unto my Father, who performed the weekly custom well; He held that clocks were not to be by careless persons wound, And he alone should turn the key or move the hands around.

I envied him that little task, and wished that I might be The one to be entrusted with the turning of the key; But year by year the clock was his exclusive bit of care Until the day the angels came and smoothed his silver hair.

To-day the task is mine to do, like those who've gone before I am a jealous guardian of that round and gla.s.sy door, And 'til at my chamber door G.o.d's messenger shall knock To me alone shall be reserved the right to wind the clock.

THE NEED

We were settin' there an' smokin' of our pipes, discussin' things, Like licker, votes for wimmin, an' the totterin' thrones o' kings, When he ups an' strokes his whiskers with his hand an' says t' me: "Changin' laws an' legislatures ain't, as fur as I can see, Goin' to make this world much better, unless somehow we can Find a way to make a better an' a finer sort o' man.

"The trouble ain't with statutes or with systems--not at all; It's with humans jus' like we air an' their petty ways an' small.

We could stop our writin' law-books an' our regulatin' rules If a better sort of manhood was the product of our schools.

For the things that we air needin' isn't writin' from a pen Or bigger guns to shoot with, but a bigger type of men.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _"The Need"_

_From a painting by_ PRUETT CARTER.]

"I reckon all these problems air jest ornery like the weeds.

They grow in soil that oughta nourish only decent deeds, An' they waste our time an' fret us when, if we were thinkin' straight An' livin' right, they wouldn't be so terrible and great.

A good horse needs no snaffle, an' a good man, I opine, Doesn't need a law to check him or to force him into line.

"If we ever start in teachin' to our children, year by year, How to live with one another, there'll be less o' trouble here.

If we'd teach 'em how to neighbor an' to walk in honor's ways, We could settle every problem which the mind o' man can raise.

What we're needin' isn't systems or some regulatin' plan, But a bigger an' a finer an' a truer type o' man."

TEN-FINGERED MICE

When a cake is nicely frosted and it's put away for tea, And it looks as trim and proper as a chocolate cake should be, Would it puzzle you at evening as you brought it from the ledge To find the chocolate missing from its smooth and shiny edge?

As you viewed the cake in sorrow would you look around and say, "Who's been nibbling in the pantry when he should have been at play?"

And if little eyes look guilty as they hungered for a slice, Would you take Dad's explanation that it must have been the mice?

Oh, I'm sorry for the household that can keep a frosted cake Smooth and perfect through the daytime, for the hearts of them must ache-- For it must be very lonely to be living in a house Where the pantry's never ravaged by a glad ten-fingered mouse.

Though I've traveled far past forty, I confess that I, myself, Even now will nip a morsel from the good things on the shelf; And I never blame the youngsters who discover chocolate cake For the tiny little samples which exultantly they take.

THE THINGS THEY MUSTN'T TOUCH

Been down to the art museum an' looked at a thousand things, The bodies of ancient mummies an' the treasures of ancient kings, An' some of the walls were lovely, but some of the things weren't much, But all had a rail around 'em, an' all wore a sign "Don't touch."

Now maybe an art museum needs guards and a warning sign An' the hands of the folks should never paw over its treasures fine; But I noticed the rooms were chilly with all the joys they hold, An' in spite of the lovely pictures, I'd say that the place is cold.

An' somehow I got to thinkin' of many a home I know Which is kept like an art museum, an' merely a place for show; They haven't railed off their treasures or posted up signs or such, But all of the children know it--there's a lot that they mustn't touch.

It's hands off the grand piano, keep out of the finest chair, Stay out of the stylish parlor, don't run on the shiny stair; You may look at the velvet curtains which hang in the stately hall, But always and ever remember, they're not to be touched at all.

"Don't touch!" for an art museum, is proper enough, I know, But my children's feet shall scamper wherever they want to go, And I want no rare possessions or a joy which has cost so much, From which I must bar the children and tell them they "mustn't touch."

THE HARDER PART