"Now listen, Ma," said Pa to her, "these birds are mighty rare. I know a lot of men who'd pay a heap to get a pair. But it's against the law to sell this splendid sort of game, And if you bought 'em you would have to use a different name. It isn't every couple has a pair to eat between 'em." "If you got any partridge there," says Ma, "you'll have to clean 'em." "Whenever kings want something fine, it's partridge that they eat, And millionaires prefer 'em, too, to any sort of meat. About us everywhere to-night are folks who'd think it fine If on a brace of partridge they could just sit down to dine. They've got a turkey skinned to death, they're sweeter than a chicken." "If that's what you've brought home," says Ma, "you'll have to do the pickin'." And then Pa took the paper off and showed Ma what he had. "There, look at those two beauties! Don't they start you feelin' glad? An' ain't your mouth a-waterin' to think how fine they'll be When you've cooked 'em up for dinner, one for you an' one for me?" But Ma just turned her nose up high, an' said, when she had seen 'em, "You'll never live to eat 'em if you wait for me to clean 'em." _The Making of a Friend_ We nodded as we passed each day And smiled and went along our way; I knew his name, and he knew mine, But neither of us made a sign That we possessed a common tie; We barely spoke as we passed by. How fine he was I never guessed. The splendid soul within his breast I never saw. From me were hid The many kindly deeds he did. His gentle ways I didn't know, Or I'd have claimed him long ago. Then trouble came to me one day, And he was first to come and say The cheering words I longed to hear. He offered help, and standing near I felt our lives in sorrow blend-- My neighbor had become my friend. How many smiles from day to day I've missed along my narrow way; How many kindly words I've lost, What joy has my indifference cost? This glorious friend that now I know, Would have been friendly years ago. _Stick to It_ Stick to it, boy, Through the thick and the thin of it! Work for the joy That is born of the din of it. Failures beset you, But don't let them fret you; Dangers are lurking, But just keep on working. If it's worth while and you're sure of the right of it, Stick to it, boy, and make a real fight of it! Stick to it, lad, Be not frail and afraid of it; Stand to the gad For the man to be made of it. Deaf to the sneering And blind to the jeering, Willing to master The present disaster, Stick to it, lad, through the trial and test of it, Patience and courage will give you the best of it.