Bellefonte, Pa., Dec. 22, 1893.
THREE CHRISTMAS CHIMES.
I
Hearken ! how the Christmas chime
Sings on earth its song sublime !
‘See the twain whose weary feet
Wander through the village street—
Doors are closed against the stranger.
See the Child, the meek aud lowly,
Christ the « ighty, the all holy,
Sleeping cradled in a manger.”
Sing yourjey, O Christmas chime!
Let us keep the Christmas time,
Be the loaf of plenty doled,
Be the poor man’s heart consoled.
Thus we keep the Christmas time.
II
Hearken still the Christmas chime
Sings on earth its song sublime!
“Wondering shepheards see the night
Flooded with celestial light—
Wondering hear the angel message:
Come and let us kne+1 before him,
Let us find him and adore him.
Peace on earth this child doth presage.’
Sing your joy, O Christmas chime !
Let us keep the Christmas time.
Let all strife and hatred cease.
Kindness live, good will and peace.
Thus we keep the Christmas time.
IIL.
Hearken ! still the Christmas chime
Sings on earth its song sublime!
“Eagerly the Mazi sped
By the wondrous star beam led,
Gold and myrrh, and incense offer.
He brings most—vyes, he the nighest
Draweth unto God the Highest
Who a heart of love doth proffer.”
Sing your joy, O Christmas chime!
Let us keep the Christmas time.
Love shall be the law to bind
In one band all ‘humankind.
Thus we keep the Christmas time.
— Century.
A CHRISTMAS QUEUE.
BY MARY E. WILKINS.
It was three weeks before Christmas,
but no snow had fallen that win-
ter. The grass was still green in
places. Mrs. Eaton looked disap-
provingly at it as she drove along.
She and her daughter Hattie sat on
the front seat of the old covered wag-
on and took turns driving the old white
horse. Hattie always drove up hill
and her mother droye down, because
she was afraid the horse might stum-
ble.
Now Mrs. Eaton had just taken the
reins and was driving down the long
hill before they came to the railroad
station. “I do hope we shan’t have a
green Christmas,” said she, “was that
the whistle 7” .
“Yes, ma'am, I guess t'was,’”’ said
Hattie, eagerly, “Oh, mother, do make
Billy go a little faster |”
“There's time enough,” returned her
mother. “I ain't goin’ to have this
horse tumblin’ down,”’ and she held
the reins high and taut and the white
horse stepped sidewise with a gingerly
stiffness down the hill.
When they reached the station the
train was just steaming out. A little
girl stood beside a trunk on the plat-
form and a woman with blue feathers
in her bonnet was bending over her
talking to her. Some lounging boys
were watching them furtively, the little
girl was almost erying, and that
aroused their curiosity.
“Your Aunt Harriet who?” said the
woman. “You're too big a girl to cry.
What's your aunt’s last name ?”’
Mrs. Eaton gave the reins to Hattie
—“You setstill,”” she ordered, sternly,
“an’ tend to the horse.” Then she
clambered out over the wheel and went
up to the little girl and touched her on
the shoulder, while the blue feathered
woman faced about with a jump.
“I'm your : Aunt Harriet,” an-
nounced Mrs. Eaton simply to the lit-
tle girl who looked up in her face with
a responsive sob. “There ain’t noth-
in’ to cry for,” said her sunt, and she
extended a gray-shawled arm like a
.gray wing and folded her close.
“There’s your Cousin Hattie in the
‘wagon,” said she, “an” we'll have some
griddle-cakes an’ honey for supper. an’
mebbe will stop at the store an’ get
something else. Come, you get right
inl!
Suddenly the other woman thrust
her head between them with a sudden
movement of her loag throat like a
+ bird.
“Land, I didn’v know she meant
you, Mrs. Eaton,” said she eagerly,
I didn’t know you was expectin’ any-
body.”
“No, I ain’t said anything to any-|
body about it,” returned Mrs. Eaton,
with some dignity, and she led the lit-
tle gitl up to the covered wagon.
‘This 18 your Cousin Hattie,” said
she, and Hattie murmured something
inaudible, and flushed scarlet all over
her sartons little face under her brown
at.
Mrs. Eaton lifted the little girl into
the wagon. “Why, you go up like a
feather,” said she, ‘you don’t begin to!
weigh as much as Hattie, if you be a
year older. I guess you'd better sit in |
back. Climb right over.”
Hattie pulled her mother’s shawl.
“‘Mebbe she'd like to drive,” she whis-
pered. “I'll set in back.”
“No,” said her mother, “we've got
40 have the trunk in here. She'll be
better off in the back. She can drive
another time”
Mrs. Eaton got two of the lounging
theys to lift the trunk into the wagon,
then she glanced irresolutely at the
blue-feathered woman,
“Be you goin’ right home, "Melia?"
she inquired. ;
“Yes, d was.” ;
“You might jest as well ride.” .
“Won't it be too much of a load for
the horse 2”
“No, I guess "tmor’t. , We can take
our time goin’ up hill, We don't
none of us weigh’ much.”
The woman was indeed 80 slender,
although quite tally that when she
climbed into the wagon the springs
scarcely bent, However, her blue
feathered bonnet slipped off and rolled
back onto the ground. “Ob, dear,
there’s my bonnet off,” she groaned.
“Here, one of you boys, pick up
that bonnet and hand it in here,” or.
dered Mre. Eaton, and a fair faced,
red haired boy obeyed, holding out the
bonnet respectfully by one corner,
Amelia Stratton dusted it carefully
with her pocket handkerchief as Mrs.
Eaton drove slowly up the hill. The
little girl at her side peeped sadly and
wonderingly up at her large head, with
its tiny button of sandy hair at the
back.
“This is the third time since I start
ed that I’ve lost off this bonnet,” said
Amelia severely, as it calling some-
body to account. “The trouble is I
ain’t got any bair to fill it up, an’ it
Jest wobbles round on my head the
whole time ; makes me nervous as a
witch. It come off once in Whitting-
ham; that is, it slipped down on my
back. The strings was tied then. an’
it come off again when I was gettin’
into the cars, and here ’tis again clean
off and all over dust. I untied the
strings, it was so warm on the cars.”
“Can you putin a pin?” inquired
Mrs. Eaton.
“I ain't got enough hair to hold oue,
see if I couldn’t match my hair an’ get
a switch that I could braid up an’
a thing like it.”
marked Mrs, Eaton.
“No, it ain’t. I know it,” assented
Amelia Stratton, with an inflection
that might have implied pride or dis-
gust.
Mrs. Eaton dreve slowly. She felt
that Billy’s strength might be unduly
taxed with the heavy load. Hattie
held tightly to the handle of her cous-
in’s trunk, Now and then she glanced
around at her with a stiff and shy
snoile, and the little cousin smiled back
piteously. She had a very pretty face
and she looked smaller and fairer and
prettier in the dark recess of the cov-
ered wagon beside gaunt Miss Amelia
Stratton. :
“She's got curls,” Hattie reflected
with awe; her own brown hair fell in
thick, sober locks to her sack collar,
‘Once, after glancing at her cousin, she
flung them back with a little air as if
they also were curls.
All the way Miss Amelia Stratton
questioned the little cousin, who an-
swered innocently and honetsly., Mrs.
Eaton chafed, she jerked the horse's
reins, once in a while she cried out
“ge lang” when he was doing his best,
she asked for Miss Amelia’s mother
and tried to turn the subject, but she
could not. Miss Amelia fonnd out
that the little girl's name was Lucy
-Ellis, that she was Mrs. Eaton’s broth-
er’s daughter, that both parents were
dead and she had been living for two
years with her Aunt Jeuny, her moth-
er's sister. That now Aunt Jenny
was dead and the money which had
not been hers really but only the inter-
est of it during her lifetime had all
gone to a brother of Aunt Jenny's hus-
band, and further how he was that
very day moving into Aunt Jenny's
house with his wife and four children,
who were all boys. “They'll spoil all
Aunt Jenny’s things,” little Lucy vol-
unteered with a plaintive air, and Miss
Amelia sniffed angrily. “1 call ita
shame that your sister's husband tied
up the property that way, don’t you 2”
she said to Mrs. Eaton.
“I ain’t got anything to say about
it,” replied Mrs. Eaton coldly, and she
slapped the reins.
Miss Amelia's house was quite near
Mrs. Eaton's. There was only a wide
field between and they were the only
houses for quite a distance. Mrs. Eat-
on said “whoa!” at Miss Amelia's
gate and slewed the wagon around
with alacrity for her to get out. Hat:
tie had to get out first and Mrs. Eaton
had to slip the trunk to her side and
stand ap so the front seat could be
folded over and Miss Amelia clamber
out. It was quite an undertaking, and
the blue feathered bonnet came off and
Hattie picked it up and dusted it.
“There won’t be nothin’ left of that
bonuet,” scolded Miss Amelia. She
did not put it on again, but still scold-
ing carried it defiantly in her hand up
the path to the square white house. A
yellow old face in a black cap watched
her from one of the front windows.
Mrs. Eaton nodded to this old face
with forced politeness, then she
slapped the reins again and went on.
“I call it a pretty go round,” she said.
“There's "Melia Stratton with a horse
an’ covered wagon of her own an’ a
hired man that could have come for
her, to say nothin’ of havin’ plenty of
‘money to hire a team, a quarterin’ on
us an’ gettin’ every bit she could out
of us; not that I hadn't jest as soon
give her aride, but I don’t want her
pokin’ her nose into all my affairs. I
like to feel sometimes that 1 keep my
affairs to myself.”
Hattie nudged her mother. “She
dido’t know you didn't want her to
tell,” she whispered, jerking a slender
shoulder towards Lucy on the back
seat.
“Ob, I ain’t blamin’ her, returned
Mrs. Eaton quickly, and she looked
round at the little cousin with a kindly
smile. “She didn’t know. Mebbe I
haduo’t ought to speak so about *Melia.
I s'pose she means well, but she's
dreadful curious and an awful talker.”
Mrs. Eaton’s house was a low white
cottage, with a long stretch of gray
barns at the left. :
‘‘Here we are,” she announced cheer-
fally as the old horse went slowly
around the corner into the yard. The
little cousin peeped wonderingly out of
the back of the wagon. ‘ :
When Mrs. Eaton and Hattie had
unharnessed the old horse and fed him,
and they were all in the warm kitchen,
Lucy sat close tothe stove and] put her
feet in the oven, as her aunt bade her.
“I don’t believe but what they’re cold,”
she said. “Then ‘1 forgot to stop at
the store and get those sweet crackers,
Well, I guess I’ve ‘got enough. You
like griddle cakes and honey, don't
you ?"’
“Yes ma'am,” replied Lucy. Now
that her hat and sacque were off her
aunt and Hattie could see more plainly
how very pretty she wae. They kept
glancing at her and at each other as
they moved about preparing supper.
“She's just the image of her mother at
her age,’ Mrs. Eaton whispered to
Hattie in the pantry, and her eyes
I’ve jest been over to Whittingham to
twist round mine, but they didn’t have | er seer
t girl friend in her life,
i
“It ain’t a very common color,” re-
were red. “She was a good six years
younger than I was and the prettiest
little thing. Her hair used to curl
just as this child’s does.”
“Can't we have some strawberry pre-
serves tor supper ?’ Hattie asked anx-
ously.
“I don’t care, if you want it. I'm
going to cook an egg for her; she
looks as if she needed hearty victuals.”
Hattie, passing through the kitchen
on her way to the cellar, looked back
admiringly at her fair haired cousin by
the stove, whose delicate face was
flushing pink in the heat.
“Say,” said she, and Lucy looked at ,
her inquiringly. “You like strawber-
ry preserves?’ Lucy nodded with a
half smile.
She looked gently cheerful at supper
and ate the griddle cakes and honey
with relish. There was a masterly
motherliness about Mrs. Eaton which
soothed and sustained her, and Hattie
was all admiration and love. Nobody
koew how much love she had stored
up for this cousin, whom she had nev-
er seen before. She had never had a
After supper the girls played check-
ers and Lucy looked pleasantly tri-
umphant when she won. “She's go-
in’ to be contented here,” her aunt
thought happily. She was knitting
and watching them. She had said
they might have just three games of
checkers, then Lucy’s trunk must be
unpacked and she must go to bed and
rest after her journey.
But there was trouble when the
trank was unpacked. Mrs. Eaton and
Hattie could not imagine why, when
the bottom was reached, the little cous-
in sat suddenly down on the bed and
hid her face in her hands. She did
not seem to be crying ; she sat perfect
ly still, as if her woe was to deep for
expression. Mrs. Eaton and Hattie
looked at each other. “What ails
her?” motioned Mrs. Eaton. Hattie
shook her head.
“What is the matter, Lucy ?"’ Mrs.
Eaton asked. Lucy made no reply.
“You haven't stuck a pin in your fin-
ger or anything, have you?’ Lucy
shook her head.
“Was there anything of your Aunt
Jenny's in there that made you feel
bad, child 2’
Lucy shook her head again; then
ghe began to sob.
“Now, child, I can’t have you doing
this way. You must speak right up
and tell me what the matter is,” said
Mrs. Eaton.
“I’'ve—left—my doll,” the little
cousin said, as if her heart were break-
ing.
Then Mrs. Eaton and Hattie looked
at each other again. “Your doll?’
repeated Mrs. Eaton wonderingly.
And the little cousin nodded. Hattie
Eaton had not played with her doll
since she was ten, and’ here was this
beautiful cousin at fourteen weeping
for hers like a mother bereft of her
child. She was full of pity and amaze-
ment, and she watched her mother’s
face for help.
“Yours is upstairs in the garret,
ain't it?” Mrs. Eaton whispered,
“Yes'm”
“Well, jes’ take the lamp, be real
careful, and get it.”
Mrs. Eaton went close to the little
sobbing figure when Hattie had disap.
peared and smoothed the fair head
with a firm, motherly hard. “Now
don’t you cry,” she commanded.
“You'll make yourself sick. Hattie's
gone to get a doll for you.”
But Hattie's doll quite failed to
comiort the weeping little girl. It had
a hard china head, with painted china
hair, and was little like her own, and
besides, it was not her own. One can
as well convince a mother there is no
difference in children as convince a
sincere little girl there is nove in dolls.
Lucy was almost resentful. She
pushed the doll away.
“When you have gone to bed and
the light is blown out if you take her
you can’t tell the difierence if you
make believe,” pleaded Hattie pitifully
extending the doll, whose cloth arms
and legs dangled limply and whose
china blue eyes stared blankly.
But Lucy would not listen to this
argument even. She went to bed and
lay sobbing gently for a while then she
fell asleep. Next day she semed more
cheerful. Hattie did her best tc enter-
tain her. She showed her the cow
and the hens ; where the last summer
flower garden had been ; she even took
her over in the field where the wild
strawberries grew in their season, “I
sell lots "she explained. “I boughta
hat and two dresses and some shoes
with my strawberry money last sum-
mer. Next summer you can earn
money selling ‘em too.”
The little cousin felt a gentle throb
of ambition and smiled. Hattie was
delighted, she was in a radiant bustle
all day. ‘Ain't she nice ?”’ she whis-
pered to her mother when she got her
apart. “She’s jest like her mother at
her age,” replied Mrs. Eaton. *I[
guess her Aunt Jeuny babyed her a
good deal and she’s a pretty big girl to
take on so about a doll, but folks al-
ways babyed her mother, and she
played with her doll till after she was
fifteen,”
“May I pop some corn for her now?"
asked Hattie.
“I don’t care, as I know of.”
Mrs, Eaton had decided that this
should be a holiday, but the next day
the usual routine began. Hattie had
never been to school, lor the nearest
one was three miles away over a lone-
ly road, so Mrs. Eaton had taught Ler
herself. She considered herself able to
as she had taught a district school be-
fore her marriage and indeed she was
quite well and firmly grounded in all
the common branches. So every day
except Saturdays and Sundays Hattie
and Lucy went to school to Mrs. Eat-
on. They did sums on their slates,
they spelled and bounded countries and |
they read very well indeed; they also |
had many household tasks to perform.
Mrs, Eaton tried to divide these im-
partially between the two. In a week
or two Lucy seemed quite happy, but
she never forgot her doll. “I wouldn't
care so much,” she told Hattie, “but I
am afraid those Pennypacker boys got
her and they would be terrible rongh
with a doll. Cousia Sarah Penny-
packer packed my trunks, and she tor-
got to put her in, I'd laid her on the |
bed all ready, too, while I went to say
goodby to one of the neighbors, I
know those Pennypacker boys got her
and she was all I bad left in the
world.”
“You've got us now,” said Hattie.
“Yes, I know I have,” replied the |
little cousin sobbing, “but she was all
I had left of the old, and TI know those |
Penaypacker boys got her.”
Indeed it proved that the little cous-
in was right, for Mrs. Eaton wrote to
Mrs. Pennypacker to inquire for the
missing doll, and received in reply the
news that the Pennypacker boys had
in truth got her without their mother’s
knowledge and treated her much after
the manner of North American In-
dians with their captives. Her beau-
tiful golden hair was gone, so were the
sweet blue eyes that could open and
shut, so were the waxen roses in her
cheeks and ber delicate kid legs and
arms, “There is nothing left of her to
send,” wrote Mrs. Pennypacker “Iam
sorry and I would buy Lucy another
doll, but I can’t afford it. It would
cost as much as $2.50, aud it’s all I
can do to make both ends meet with
all these boys.”
“I call it rather small potatoes,”
Mrs. Eaton said confidently to Hattie,
“Here's that Jenny Pennypacker got
all Jenny’s money that poor Lucy
ought to have had and now she can’t
go much as buy her a doll when her
great rough boys have spoiled the one
she had.”
“I think It's mean,” said Hattie,
and her voice seemed {o fairly stamp
with “indignation at the last word.
Mother ?”
“What say.”
“Can't we buy her a doll for Christ
mas next week 2’
“No, we can’t,” replied her mother
decidedly. “lI wish we could, but I
ain’t got any $2.50 to lay out on dolls.
You know that as well as I do, Hattie.
The insurance is coming due and we've
got to have a barrel of flour and that's
going to leave us precious little for
things we can’t do without.”.
“I guess I've got as much as $1 in
my saving’s bank,’ said Hattie,
“That don’t make any difference. I
ain’t gov any $1.50 to spend and she
wouldn’t think anything ot a doll that
wasn’t a8 nice as the other one. No.
we can’t buy her a doll, but I'll tell
you what we'll do. We'll go to Whit-
ingham one day next week and see the
stores and I'!l buy for each of you a
white apron ; that is something you
really need.”
Hattie looked overjoyed and so she
was for herself ; her pleasures had
been so simple that a visit to Whiting-
ham, thesight of the Christmas show
in the stores and the new white apron
seemed wonderful treats. She talked
80 much about it to Lucy that she
also was full of joyous anticipations al-
though her heart was still sore over
the doll, The harrowing details in
Mrs. Pennypacker’s letter had been
spared her, but she knew the abstract
trath that the Pennypacker boys had
indeed got her.
Christmas came oo a Thursday. The
Sunday before was stormy and Lucy
had a cold so Mrs. Eaton went to
meeting alone and left the girls to keep
house. Lucy sat close to the kitchen
fire smiling desolately and Hattie tried
Ler best to amuse her.
“Ill tell you what we can do,” she
said suddenly, when she had been read-
ing aloud to her, and Lucy’s attention
had flagged.
“What ?” returned Lucy, languid-
ly.
" “We can look in the desk drawers.
That was my grandfather's desk you
know, and theres lots of things in the
drawers just as he left em.”
Lucy brightened up. “Wouldn’t
your mother care ?"’ said she.
“No, she always lets me look ‘em
over when I want to.”
There was the debris of a past gener-
ation in the drawers of that desk.
There were useless relics of old men and
women who had long lain in the vil-
lage gravevard, treasures as dead as
their former owners. The two little
girls pulled out one drawer after an-
other set it on the floor and delved in
it. They investigated old wallets and
deeds, old buttons whose garments had
long since mouldered away, old keys to
forgotten locks, old knives and worn
spectacles. It showed Mrs. Eaton's
respect to her father’s memory, that
with all ber neat housekeeping she had
never cleaned out those ancient draw-
ers and thrown away some of the con-
tents, When she had been a child at
home there had been a stern household
mandate that father’s desk was not to
be meddled with and she had never
forgotten it. The old desk stood in her
kitchen as sacredly regarded as tbe
relics of Chinese ancestors. Some:
times she eyed it uneasily and said to
Hattie “I kinder feel as if these draw-
ers ought to be weeded out, but I can’t
bear to throw away any of father's
things,” and she never did.
They had come to the last drawer
and Lucy pulled a long parcel nicely
tied up in brown paper and looked at it
curiously. “What's this, Hattie 2”
said she.
Hattie knew the contents" of the old
desk almost ae well as she did the
alphabet and indeed they were like
curious hieroglyphics of past lives,
She did not need to unroll the parcel.
“Oh, that's grandiather’s queue,” said
she. ‘He used to wear a queue when
he was a young man and when
they went out of fashion he had it cut
offand it was laid away here. Mother
told me about it.”
Lucy looked awed. She unrolled
the parcel and held up a long tight
braid of faded sandy hair tied with a
black ribbon.
“Why.” said she, “it’s just the color
of that woman's hair that rode home
with us the dav I came—what made
you jump so, Hattie?"
“Did 1.7"
“Yes, vou jumped awfully, It is
one end of the drawer.
juet the color ain’t 2"
“Yes, I guess ‘tis about the color,”
said Hattie. There was a deep blush
on her sober face. She took hold of
“1 guess you'd
better take hold and we'll put this
back before mother comes home. It's
most time she won’t want the kitchen
all mussed up,”
Childish little Luey tugged painfully
at her end of the drawer, and it was
slid back into place. She did not see
Hattie slip her grandtather’s quene
under her gingham into her pocket,
although she went on talking innocent-
ly about it. “How funny men must
have looked with queues,” she ob-
served and Hattie assented.
Always on a Sunday afternoon Hat
tie was sent with Zion's Herald to old
Mrs. Stratton Mrs, Eaton in spite of
her limited means, took Zion's Herald
just as her father had always done.
She did feel as it the Stratton’s could
afford to take it better than she, but
she always sent it over to Amelia's |
mother, who liked to read it on Sunday
alternoon,
Hattie was gone rather longer than
usual that Sunday afternoon. When
she got home, her mother was _boiling
some molasses, butter and vinegar to
gether for Lucy. “She won’t be fit to
go over to Whitingham this week, it
her cold ain’t any better,” said Mrs.
Eaton. “I thought maybe we'd go
Tuesday.
However, it stormed Monday, Tues-
day and Wednesday, two days and a
half of rain and mist and then half a
day of snow ; so although Lucy’s cold
wag better, they could not go to Whit-
ingham. Thursday the day before
Christmas was pleasant, but then Mrs.
Eaton had a cold. Colds were epidem-
ic in the neighborhood. She was very
hoarse and could scarcely speak on
Thursday morning and did not quite
know what to do. She was not quite
able to go to Whitingham’s herself
and did not quite like to send the little
girls alone.
Finally she decided to she wrapped
them up warmly and made them draw
on some old stockings over their shoes
to protect them from the snow, as they
had to walk vo the station, then
she gave them enough money for their
fares and 25 cents apiece besides with
which to buy aprous.
“Be sure and pick out some good
cambric,” she charged in her hoarse
voice. “I don’t hardly trust you to
buy 'em alone, and be careful about
gettin’ on and off the cars,’
Mrs. Eaton * worried a greal deal
after they were gone, although she
told herself that she was foolish and
they were quite old enough to go to
Whitingham alone. She felt a great
throb of relief when they came in
sight late in the atternoon. “There
they are safe and sound,” she said to
herself,” with their aproas, but what is
that Lucy has got? She's got a big
bundle a carryin’ it like a baby.”
Mrs. Eaton went to the door and
stood there waiting in spite of her co!d.
“Well, you've got back all sate, haven't
you?” she called out. Lucy smiled
back happily, bat Hattie bad an odd
sober look. They came io and Hattie
laid two small parcels on the table.
“What are these?” asked
mother.
“The aprons,” replied Hattie meek-
]
her
vy.
“What's that she got?’ said Mrs.
Eaton pointing at Lucy.
“A doll,” replied Hattie.
“A doll 2”
“Yes ma'am,”
Lucy took the doll out of the wrap-
ping and held it up. Sheand the doll
looked alike, they both had yellow
curls, pink cheeks and blue eyes, and
expressions of innocent delight,
“It’s real handsome,” said Mrs. Ea-
ton. “Now you'd better go up stairs
and put on your other dress, Lucy.”
The minute Lucy had disappeared
with the rosy doll-face peeping back
over her shoulder, Mrs. Eaton
turned to Hattie. “Now,” said she,
tell me where you got that doll.”
Hattie’s face was quite white and
her eyes were bewildered, she had a
feeling as if she had only calculated on
one step down to wrong doing, and
there were five which had brought her
up with a sudden shock.
“Tell me this minute,” said her
mother sternly in her hoarse voice.
“I shook my savings bank,” said
Hattie, and 1 got out $1.03, and then
—Oh, mother, I didn’t think you'd
care, she wanted the doll awfully—"
“Then what ?’,
“I—sold—grandfather’s queue for
—$1.47, to Melia Stratton for—a
switch. It was just the color.”
‘She didn’t buy that of you Harriet
Eaton.”
“She didn’t know what it was.”
“You needn’t tell me; you told a lie
to her about it.”
“Nol didn’t mother, not really«
She thought you sent it I guess, and
she put it up to see if it matched, and
she looked in the glass, and she talked
about how much it was worth, and
where it came from, but she talked so
fast she didn’t know when I didn’t
answer her.”
“She is very much to blame,” said
Mrs. Eaton severely, then she turned
suddenly upon Hattie, “but not so
much to blame as you are,” she added.
“You knew better than todo such a
thing.”
“She wanted
tie.
“There are worse things than want-
ing dolls,” said her mother, “Now
you go right over to Melia and tell her
and get back the switch."
“Oh, mother I" I ain't got the money
to give her.’
“Tell her you did it unbeknownst to
me and she'll have to wait till you can
pick berries next summer and pay her
back. By good right that doll ought
to be carried back,”
“Lucy ain’t to blame, mother, she
didn’t know anything about it.”
“Well, you just go right over
then.”
And over Hattie Eaton had to go, a
forlorn, dejected little flgure, with a
stoop in its shoulders like an old wo-
the doll,” sobbed Hat.
with the wind blowing in her tear
stained face.
She crept around to. the side door of
the Stratton house, opened it softly,
and disappeared within, They were
such near neighbors that she never
knocked at the Stratton door. She
was gone some time ; at last the door
was opened and she and Miss Amelia
stood there in the clear cold glow of the
winter ean set.
Miss Amelia had a little green shawl
over her head. She was waving a
piece of changeable blue and orange
silk like a flag and she was taikiog
fast,
“Yes,”* said she, “it was dreadful
nanghty for you to steal that aud sell
it to me I never heard of such a thing.
[t makes me fairly sick to think I wore
it. I'd rather leave my bonnet off the
whole time. I'd a good deal rather do
the way Miss Carr said I could ; wear
a little skein of yarn under my bonnet
to keep it on. But if you promise.
ever to do such a thing again as long
as you live I won't say any more about
it and you ueedn’t worry about the
money. That poor child has had a
hard time losin’ all her folks and that
Pennypacker woman ought to be
ashamed of herself letting those boys.
get hold of that doll, You can have
this piece of silk to make a dress of,
but you'd better let your mother show
you about it so you won’t waste it.”
“Yes, ma'am,” said Hattie. She
started off with the queue in one hand
and the roll of orange and blue change-
able silks in the other, but Miss Amelia.
stopped her. “Stop a minute,” said
she. She had a curious nerved-up
look in her face and she held outa
great, bright, silver dollar which
caught the low sunlight and gleamed
out of the dark entry like a small
moon.
“There you take this, Harriet,” she
said, “We have to be pretty prudent,
but it’s Christmas an’ you've brought
over the Home Missionary to wother
real steady you take it and buy your
self something you want with it and—
you tell your mother not to mind about
the —other. That it’s all—a Christmas
present from me for you children.”
The Stratton door shut and Hattie
went up the road with the queue, the
silk and the silver dollar. Her heart
was so full of gratitude, repentance
and Christmas joy, that her feet almost
trembled into a dance. She never
knew that she bad not even thanked
Miss Amelia Stratton and Miss Amelia
never knew either.
Tell the Truth.
The blanket and cloth mills of John
and James Dobson were shut down
Saturday. The reason assigned is the
lack of trade, on account of the “tariff
uncertainty.’
This is no doubt the truth ; but why
not tell the whole truth ?”
Why not tell the known fact that the
Messrs. Dobson feel enough certainty
in the tariff to enter now into contracts
in England for large quantities of wool-
en waste, to be imported as soon as
the new tariff shall go into operation
admitting this important material free
of taxation ?
In other words, the mills are closed,
not in fear of the Wilson tariff, but to
wait for its greater advantages. And
yet the workmen are told that it is be-
cause Congress is threatening their in-
dustries and that they must expect a
reduction of wages.
Everybody can understand why
woolen manufacturers do not wish to
go on under the present tariff when
there1s a prospect of better conditions
in the near future. But why not tell
the truth about it.—Phila. Times.
Bided Her Time.
“Mr. Goodlive (to his boarding-
house keeper.) “Yes, madame. we
leave today to go to housekeeping.
My wife and 1 can’t stand tough steak,
strong butter, eloppy coffee, and blue
milk a day longer. We want tender
porter-house, gilt-edge butter, pure
Java coffee and rich cream, and we are
to have it.”
Mrs. Slimdiet. “Very well. I shall
be glad to have you again when you
wish to come back.”
Mr. Goodlive (a year later.) “Good
morning, Mrs. Slimdiet. My wife and
I would like to have our old rooms, if
they are vacant.”
Mrs. Slimdiet (pleasantly.) “What
was the matter with porterhouse steak,
gilt edge butter, pure Java and rich
cream ?"’
Mr. Goodlive (dolefully.) They cost
too much.”
Christmas times are coming,
and the gayety and merriment which
belong to them will have full expres-
sion, regardless of circumstances,
though no one who is favored in this
world’s goods will fail to do something
to make brighter the homes where lit-
tle Christmas cheer will enter.
Many kind words, many sweet senti-
ments will be uttered in the shadow of
the mistletoe boughs this Christmas-
tide, but the spirit that will reign
amid all the festivity will not be one
ot selfishness but that which is the es-
sence of the festival, ‘Peace on earth,
good will toward men.
A Steel Company will be Kept Busy.
HARRISBURG, Pa., December 25.—
Word comes from Steelton to-night.
that the Pennsylvania Steel company
has booked enough orders to keep the
plant in operation until the 1st of Jan-
uary ; that the contemplated shut
down on December 23 until February
1 will be postponed a week. Ii may
be postponed indefinitely if sufficient
orders are received.
He Wouldn't Do.
Friend— Wouldn't you like to have
me sit here and shoot at the poets when
they come in ?
Editor—No. You are too poor on a.
shot.—Brooklyn Life.
——The restaurants of Paris sold in.
an, plodding through the light snow, 1891 18,000 dozen frogs legs.