Just Folks. Edgar A. Guest

       You cannot buy the gentle touch that mother gives the place;

       No servant girl can do the work with just the proper grace.

       And though you hired the queen of cooks to fashion your croquettes,

       Her meals would not compare with those your loving comrade gets;

       So, though the maid has quit again, and she is moved to sob,

       The old home's at its finest now, for Nellie's on the job.

The Old, Old Story

       Table of Contents

      I have no wish to rail at fate,

       And vow that I'm unfairly treated;

       I do not give vent to my hate

       Because at times I am defeated.

       Life has its ups and downs, I know,

       But tell me why should people say

       Whenever after fish I go:

       "You should have been here yesterday"?

       It is my luck always to strike

       A day when there is nothing doing,

       When neither perch, nor bass, nor pike

       My baited hooks will come a-wooing.

       Must I a day late always be?

       When not a nibble comes my way

       Must someone always say to me:

       "We caught a bunch here yesterday"?

       I am not prone to discontent,

       Nor over-zealous now to climb;

       If victory is not yet meant

       For me I'll calmly bide my time.

       But I should like just once to go

       Out fishing on some lake or bay

       And not have someone mutter: "Oh,

       You should have been here yesterday."

       The Pup

       He tore the curtains yesterday,

       And scratched the paper on the wall;

       Ma's rubbers, too, have gone astray—

       She says she left them in the hall;

       He tugged the table cloth and broke

       A fancy saucer and a cup;

       Though Bud and I think it a joke

       Ma scolds a lot about the pup.

       The sofa pillows are a sight,

       The rugs are looking somewhat frayed,

       And there is ruin, left and right,

       That little Boston bull has made.

       He slept on Buddy's counterpane—

       Ma found him there when she woke up.

       I think it needless to explain

       She scolds a lot about the pup.

       And yet he comes and licks her hand

       And sometimes climbs into her lap

       And there, Bud lets me understand,

       He very often takes his nap.

       And Bud and I have learned to know

       She wouldn't give the rascal up:

       She's really fond of him, although

       She scolds a lot about the pup.