It is good to watch dear father as he blithely skips along, on his face
no sign of bother, on his lips a cheerful song; peeling spuds and
scraping fishes, putting doilies on the chairs, sweeping floors and
washing dishes, busy with his household cares. Now the kitchen fire is
burning; to get supper he will start--mother soon will be returning
from her labors in the mart.

Poor tired mother! Daily toiling to provide our meat and bread! Where
the eager crowd is moiling, struggling on with weary tread! Battling
with stockjobbing ladies, meeting all their wiles and tricks, or
embarking in the Hades of the city's politics! But forgotten is the
pother, all the work day cares are gone, when she comes home to dear
father with his nice clean apron on! There's your chair, he says; "sit
in it; supper will be cooked eftsoons: I will dish it in a
minute--scrambled eggs and shredded prunes." It is good to watch him
moving round the stove with eager zeal, in his every action proving
that his love goes with the meal.

When the evening meal is eaten and the things are cleared away, then we
sit around repeatin' cares and triumphs of the day; and the high
resounding rafter echoes to our harmless jokes, to our buoyant peals of
laughter, while tired mother sits and smokes. Thus her jaded mind
relaxes in an atmosphere so gay, and she thinks no more of taxes or of
bills that she must pay; smiles are soon her face adorning, in our nets
of love enmeshed, and she goes to work next morning like a giantess
refreshed.