The reason I like my small red drum
In snowy winter and rosy June,
Is because, no matter how I pound,
I never can hammer it out of tune.
POLLY GETS MAD.
"Your pa don't make any money," said Wilbur, scornfully, to Polly.
"No, he don't; but I tell you one thing, Wilbur Jones, he earns a lot!"
WHAT HE GOT.
"What did your papa get on Christmas, Billy?"
"Mad!" said Billy.