Dedicated to the Fathers of Boys in the States still inhabited 

 by Grouse, Quail and Deer. 



ROBBED.* 



(A Western Father presents his twelve-year-old Son with 

 a new Gun.) 



Oh, where is the game, daddy? Where is the game 



That you hunted when you were a hoy? 

 You've told me a lot of the game that you shot; 



No wonder svich sport gave you joy. 

 I'm old enough now to handle a gun; 



Let me be a sportsman, too. 

 I'd like my fair share of clean out-door fun, 



And I want to shoot, just like you. 



But where are the birds, daddy? Where are the birds? 



I can't put them up anywhere! 

 You had your good sport with the wild flocks and herds, 



And surely you saved me my share. 

 And where is the big game that roamed around here 



When grandfather came here with you? 

 I don't see one antelope, bison or deer. 



Didn't grandfather save me a few? 



Why don't you speak up, dad, and show me some game? 



Now, why do you look far away? 

 Your face is all red, with what looks like shame! 



Is there nothing at all you can say? 

 What! "The game is all gone?" There is "no hunting now?" 



No game birds to shoot or to see? 

 Then take back your gun; I'll go back to the plow; 



But, oh! daddy, how could you rob me! 



— W. T. H. 



*Read at the organization convention of the Minnesota 

 Game Protective League, Clinton M. Odell, President; Min- 

 neapolis, August 27, 1915. 



