. California agriculturist and live stock journal. Agriculture -- California; Livestock -- California; Animal industry -- California. California Agriculturist and Live Stock Journal. mi^ mu\ (f^\xh. n The Country Boy. PITY tho poor little country boy, Away on his lonely farm! The holidays bring him no elegant toy; He has no money; there is no shop: Even Christmas morning hia work doesn't stop; He has cows to milk,—he has wood to chop. And carry in on his ; Did you hear that, Fred, as you came through the gate. With your millt-pail full tc the brim? No envy hid under yuur curly brown p
. California agriculturist and live stock journal. Agriculture -- California; Livestock -- California; Animal industry -- California. California Agriculturist and Live Stock Journal. mi^ mu\ (f^\xh. n The Country Boy. PITY tho poor little country boy, Away on his lonely farm! The holidays bring him no elegant toy; He has no money; there is no shop: Even Christmas morning hia work doesn't stop; He has cows to milk,—he has wood to chop. And carry in on his ; Did you hear that, Fred, as you came through the gate. With your millt-pail full tc the brim? No envy hid under yuur curly brown pate— You were watching a star in the morning sky. And a star seemed shining out of your eye; Y'our thoughts were glad, you couldn't tell why; But they were not of toys, or of him. Tet the city boy said what he kindly meant. Walking on by his mother's side, With his eyes on the toy-shop windows bent. Wishing for all that his eyes could see; Longing and looking and teasing went he. Nor dreamed that a single pleasure could be Afar in your woodlands wild. You ate your breakfast that morning, Fred, As a country buy should eat; Then you jumped with your father upon the sled And were olf to the hill for a load of wood; Quiet and patient tJie oxen stood. And the snowy world looked cheerful and good. While you stamped to warm your feet. Tlien your father told you to take a run, And you started up the hill; You were alone, but it was such fun I The larch and the pine tree seemed racing past Instead of yourself, you went so fast; But, rosy and out of breath, at last You stood in the sunshine still. And all of a sudden there came the thought— While a brown leaf toward you whirled. And a chickadee sang, as If they brought Something they meant on purpose for you. As if the trees to delight you grew, As if the sky for your sake was blue— "It is such a beautiful world!" The graceful way that the spruce trees had Of holding their soft, white load. You saw and admired; and your
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