This text was obtained via automated optical character recognition.
It has not been edited and may therefore contain several errors.

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To An Apron
Two aprons hung on a pantry door One very happy-the other quite sore
The broom in the corner sighed and said,
Why do you worry your pretty head The sad apron, looked so limp and forlorn While the gay apron hummed a sweet little song The tea is at three, thfJu its work for me While your job is finished and you are free Of'course I'll be ftiingling with^the^guests Who sometimes can really be such pests O' they will be praising about the eats The wonderful salad, the delicious sweets The fresh crisp curtains, the crystal so clear Alas, The credit is all yours my dear.