d see what's causing all the fuss."
It seems we grew to look and lean on him as one of us.

He had a big and kindly heart, a fine and tender way,
And more than once I've wished that I could call him in to-day.
The specialists are clever men and busy men, I know,
And haven't time to doctor as they did long years ago;
But some day he may come again, the friend that we can call,
The good old family doctor who will love us one and all.

DENIAL

I'd like to give 'em all they ask--it hurts to have to answer, "No,"
And say they cannot have the things they tell me they are wanting so;
Yet now and then they plead for what I know would not be good to give
Or what I can't afford to buy, and that's the hardest hour I live.

They little know or understand how happy I would be to grant
Their every wish, yet there are times it isn't wise, or else I can't.
And sometimes, too, I can't explain the reason when they question why
Their pleadings for some passing joy it is my duty to deny.

I only know I'd like to see them smile forever on life's way;
I would not have them shed one tear or ever meet a troubled day.
And I would be content with life and gladly face each dreary task,
If I could always give to them the little treasures that they ask.

[Illustration: _"Denial"_

_From a painting by_ F. C. YOHN.]

Sometimes we pray to God above and ask for joys that are denied,
And when He seems to scorn our plea, in bitterness we turn aside.
And yet the Father of us all, Who sees and knows just what is best,
May wish, as often here we wish, that He could grant what we request.

THE WORKMAN'S DREAM

To-day it's dirt and dust and steam,
To-morrow it will be the same,
And through it all the soul must dream
And try to play a manly game;
Dirt, dust and steam and harsh commands,
Yet many a soft hand passes by
And only thinks he understands
The purpose of my task and why.

I've seen men shudder just to see
Me standing at this lathe of mine,
And knew somehow they pitied me,
But I have never made a whine;
For out of all this dirt and dust
And clang and clamor day by day,
Beyond toil's everlasting "must,"
I see my little ones at play.

The hissing steam would drive me mad
If hissing steam was all I heard;
But there's a boy who calls me dad
Who daily keeps my courage spurred;
And there's a little girl who waits
Each night for all that I may bring,
And I'm the guardian of their fates,
Which ma