16 * i*my ... v J <§ SANTA CLAUS AT GRIMM'S RANCH. »vS A Story for &o <sa Christmas. cs? s^A ft SW' THOUSAND par ! >» but c °uld the &£>} ,i Jfei 1' senor the change give 112 v L for two gold pieces Jjf' X Ji of an?" 112 JK(f <lolin Wells jerked fiQtm&Wt? j his n '-' wIJ II r g e d { horses to a standstill /r ..vJj) fibril . iuice at the ' heavily &&\SsjSi%^;'.'.:-: bearded Mtxiemi who, wit h dolled j '/l-'AOu/•■''' " sombrero, had nui- | ] y V,\V(' I fc" *V' <1 eii 1 v eonfronted j I I '' liiin at a point where j | tne Menaidville road extricated itself from > the scattered jaenls of Fort M< -Haver. and keaded out for the open prairie. It was | early niorninif oft he 24th of December. 1895. Wells had freshly risen from an unappetiz ing and indigestible breakfast of grease-sod den tortillas and rancid bacon; had quar reled with the hotel keeper over his cxtor itionate charges for the last night's lodging; avas hungr.N : angry with the sharp sleet that came drifting against his face from the northeast; angry with the "infernal luck" that doomed him to wander over the wild 'prairies of southwestern Texas while the rest of mankind were happily preparing for , 'the holiday festivities; angry at the abomin able cabbage-leaf cigar which refused to yield him solace from his woes; angry with | the world at large and—just nt that moment —with the disreputable looking "Greaser" before him in particular. "Two gold pieces of $20." he growled. "Where are they? Are they counterfeit'/ How did you come by them?" The Mexican gravely held them forth in his dirty palm for inspection. "They are gold, senor. They were given j Uno by the American, Senor Hlack—who l sends the meat of goats across the seas in I cans. The money is the price of 40 goats that I drove from the Rio Concho." Wells regarded the Mexican with a search ing gaze of suspicion. "1 know Col. Hill Black, and his gold is j good. Hut I think i know you, too. You were in the hotel just now when 1 paid my : bill, and I think I saw you last night at the store where I bought those cursed cigars. I believe you want to learn if i have money, so you can relieve me of it farther out on the plains." I The object of Wells' distrust threw hi.- I arms aloft in humble deprecation. "The Sacred Mother knows —!" "Never mind that nonsense," exclaimed I Wells, roughly. "Fin no baby, and Fil take j 1 " THEY ARE GOLD, SENOR. ' chances on you arid all the Greasers in Mc- Kavett. I'll give you silver for your gold; and here in this sack is more money -white and yellow—that you may have for the tak ing. Don't be afraid of the guns—they are never loaded —but sail in as soon as you ca'n raise your crowd and overtake me." The Mexican made no reply to this bland bit of encouragement, but his snaky eyes gleamed evilly from their covert of steel gray brows, as they rested upon the plump buckskin pouch nestled between the butts of b heavy shotgun and a Winchester rille. J!e was profuse in his thanks for the Amer ican's kindness, but Wells' only response was a short grunt as he once more drew the blankets closely around him and chirruped to his not over-willing team. It was a long drive to Menardville, and a longer one to the nearest railway station, the point for which Wells was now heading, liver since the middle of November he had been driving here and there among the scat tered ranches, on a collecting trip for his employers, a prominent firm of San Antonio merchants; and he was more than anxious to get back to civilization onre more. lie had been successful in bis mission and had remitted several large sums by expr.'.-ss; but his collections had been heavy during the last H w days, and at least-*II,OOO, in bill.- and coin, were stowed away in his pockets and in the buckskin bag at his feet. It was a large sum of money and he naturally telt the responsibility its possession involved. John Wells was by no means a coward, but he was perfectly acquainted with the coun try and its people, and knew that the chance of acquiring one-tenth the amount iie car ried would be sufficient to prompt many of the latter to murder, lie had been particu larly struck with the villainous face and sus picious demeanor of the goat-herder, and the uneasiness aroused by the little incident of the morning hung over him during the en tire day. Without making his usual noonday halt, he drove steadily on, occasionally glancing back over the dim trail, in mcmentarj ex pectation of finding himself pursued. How ever, evening came without anything hav ing transpired to increase his alarm, and an iiour before darkness closed down upon the bleak plains he drew rein before the door of a lone ranch and, without the useless pre limitiary of applying for accommodations, began divesting ills tired horses of the har ness. As he unhooked the tugs of the off horse, a tcwheaded urchin of eight or nine years same strolling up from the near-by corral, crept into the buggy seat and drew the blankets over his head until only his boyish face and sparkling eyes were visible. "What's your name, mister?" he asked, with childlike directness. "Jack Wells. What's yours?" "Hank Grimm. I'm only Little Hank. Old Hank is my gran'paw, and he owns this ranch. The Mexicans call this 'I)os Botas Ranch,' 'cause gran'paw gives the 'two boot' brand. Say. mister, do you know who I thought you mought be when you dnv' up?" "Couldn't guess." "1 thought niebby it was Santa Onus, but then 1 allow he's got more whiskers'n you have. Still, he mought have shaved." Wells admitted that Santa Claus might, by way of a change, conclude to make his annual trip with a beard of three weeks' growth, or even a smoothly-shaven face. Further than that he couldn't, under the circumstances, blame Little Hank for look ing upon ali strangers with an eye of sus picion: but lie thought the chances of pop ping his gaze on Santa Clans by daylight were extremely small. Several millions of boys, in different parts of the world, had been keeping their eyes open for years with out avail, and there had come to be a popu lar belief that the jolly fellow with the rein deers traveled principally in the dark. "That's the way he hit this ranch last Christmas, and 1 reckon he left it till about the last ranch on his rounds," remarked the boy. "He didn't leave me a thing that I wanted- nuthin' but a little tin wagon and a pound of candy. Say, mister, d'ye reckon Santa Claus ever handles windehesters?" The appearance of the elder Hank Grimm spared Wells the necessity of answering this difficult query. The owner of the "Two Hoot ranch" was a man well advanced in years, and possessed of a sturdy, erect fig ure, square-cut features and sky-blue eyes, that told at once of German ancestry and of past service in the armies of the old world or the new. He welcomed the traveler heart ily, directed him how to dispose of his horses for the night, and then abruptly, turned away and entered the house. Little Hank remained behind and, in his quaint, boyish way, superintended Wells' every movement. A covey of quail that had been foraging in the vicinity of the crib flushed at their ap proach and settled in the prairie grass a short distance away. Little Hank clamored to have one of them killed for hi? Christmas breakfast, and to please him, oil their re turn to the buggy, Wells slipped a couple of bird loads in his Parker, and, when the eo\ cy rose again, grassed three plump beau ties with a hasty double shot. The boy was in perfect ecstasies over his success. "That's better'n you could do with a windcheater," he remarked, in a tone de noting that he considered this the height of possible praise. "Gran'paw says a shotgun is no good; but I reckon it depends a heap on who shoots it. I never seed but one lie fore, and it wasn't wuth shucks. Ii be lorifv d to a man from ArkansiiW, and he couldn't hit the broadside ot a mule." The traveler's effects were soon trans ferred lo the living room of the ranch, where he was introduced to the ranchman's aged wife, and found that the only occupants of the place were themselves and their pre cocious grandson. Grimm was a German of the old school, with true Teutonic ideas of comfort, and it seemed that unusual prep arations for the evening meal had been made in honor of his visitors. All in the way of food that the ranch could offer was on the table, and, surmounting the array of snowy biscuits, ham and eggs, juicy steak and canned fruit, stood a group of ancient glass decanters, their contents shining in a grada tion of colors from deep red to straw yel low. Little Hank seemed to look upon his share of the feast as an especial treat, and after it was disposed of his tonjue ran more glibly CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 21, 1899. than ever. At length his grand si re suspend ed for a moment a morsel of beef half raised to his mouth, and uttered a word of reproof. "llenry, my boy, it is not right that the children should talk and the grown ones listen. Remember, you should he very good to-night. They say that Santa Glaus to bad boys is not kind." "Hut see," retorted the lad, quickly. "I was good before and what did he bring me?, Nothing. 1 wanted a windchester and he brought me a tin wagon." "The child would be a man before his time," putin his grandmother, "lie talks of nothing but guns; and if he had them he would kill us all, and himself in the bar gain." "I would be a brave soldier —like my fa ther," said tlie boy, his eyes filling with tears. "And be killed by the Indians, as was he," responded the old ranchman. "M> child, the Grimms have been soldiers since the earliest days. I have fought, in my time, witli brave men to lead me onto battle, an.l I tell you thero is nothing in soldiering nothing but hard work and slavery and bloodshed and death, it is a dog's life; nothing more." Later in the night, when Wells and Little Hank were snugly stowed away it: the hit ter's bed, the question of Santa Glaus and the "windchester" came up again, but no lengthy diseussir.il followed. It niU3t have been sometime after mid night when Wells was partially aroused by the knowledge that some one was moving in the room, and called out to know who it might be. "Nobody but roe—Hank Grimm. Not gran'paw, but the little one. You know—" Hilt that was quite enough fur the som nolent gentleman from San Antonio. If the sentence \<a.s tinished lie failed to hear its conclusion. Sometime afterwards, however, he was aroused again; and this time so thor oughly that he heard and understood th« words that awoke him. They evidently came from the "living room" into which his apartment opened, and were uttered at the top of Little Hank's childish treble. "Thar now. Santa Glaus. I've got you this time, and either that windchester comes or I downs your incut-house. No tin wagons for me this Christ man." There was a tierce curse grittingly mut tered; the sharp crack of a pistol; and then —boom! boom; —two thunderous reports almost as one, shaking tlie adobe walls of the ranch to their foundations. A dense volume 'if smoke rolled into the sleeping room, but Wells charged through it with ready rifle, reaching the outer apartment just as old Grimm entered from another door light in hand. Little Hank lay beneath the huge table, groaning dismally and rubbing his shoulder. Otherwise the room was unoccupied; but a window near the door was open, and on the .r --rw ri'; gjjjfc / I " tot vf\ - W_ 1 % ! Mg "I'VE GOT YOU THIS TIME. 'SANTA CLAUS." hard dirt floor lay a freshly discharged pis tol and a Mexican sombrero. "It is robbers that have been here," ex claimed the raneliMan. "It is Mexican rob bers, and they have shot my boy!" Weils dived beneath the table, brought forth the injured lad and placed him ten derly in a chair; but he at once struggled to his feet. "Turn loose the dog, gran'paw, or lie will git away. It's Santa Glaus, and I'm blamed it' he didn't miss me with his pistol right slap in my face. I never knowed afore that Santa Glaus was an Arkansaw man." Wells turned from the excited boy and approached the open window. Below it, and directly to the right, the whitewashed walls were torn and disfigured with shot, and there were great splotches and dark, trick ling streams of something like red paint shining in the light of the lamp. He turned to the old German; his fea tures pale but collected. "You will not need the dog," said he. "The man who tumbled through that win dow is lying where he fell—and I think I will recognize him when I see him." Wells was right in both his surmises. In "layin' fer Santa Glaus" Little Hank had taken a step that no midnight marauder could have foreseen. In forcing an entry to Grimm's ranch, the Mexican goat herilsr, who had trailed Wells all the way from Mc- Kavett, had gone directly to his death. He lay outside the window, as he had faSen when the bulk of two loads of buckshot hai! struck him, and when Little Hank gazed into his dead face, its pallor more ghastly still in the lamplight, he screamed and stag gered back, covering his eyes with trembling hands. "I don't want to be a soldier," he sobbed. "I never want to kill anather man as long as I live." Hut his sturdy old granddain—descended, no doubt, from a long line of warlike Teutons —took him in her strong arms con solingly. "Hut this man was a robber, my dear. Killing was his deserts, for he came to mur der us all in our sleep. You saved our lives, and now would you turn coward and make us ashamed "It was not a brave deed," growled old Grimm. "The boy thought to shoot Santa Glaus and killed a lazy thief of a Mexican in stead. It was a bull's-eye on the wrong tar get and no honor is won. Still, I am glad it lias happened, for it may frighten his babyish mind from this folly about soldier life and guns." And so Kris Kringle did not visit the ranch that night, and Little Hank had to wait for his title —but not, as it chanced, so very long, after all. Arriving without farther incident at his destination, Wells first care was to visit the different gunstorei of San Antonio upon an errand the nature of which can be easily guessed. On New Year's Eve the McKavett stage halted at Grimm's ranch to deliver a package, and a few min utes later the heart of the younger Hank was beating high with elation. Snugly packed in a neat box lay two guns—a tiny Winchester and a light breech loading shot gun. It was a present fit for a king, and a costlier one than Jack Wells' slim purse could have stood unaided; but his employ ers had been told how their thousands were saved and graciously donated two per cent, of the entire amount towards rewarding the principal actor in that Christmas Eve trig, edy at the "Two Hoot ran h," B. D. BARNES. CffßisTms ©vine, R'. : \ Cr not enough to fill \«£ -A-'Cj 13 NIK / the <Ja >' with V- 1 / feasting, w \/W) 2/ With merry laugh- W ter and with happy song. /,/ j\ wßtvi Unto this Messed v/ r' U\ J/I some deed V)) of kindness «' And word of sweet encouragement belong. Pause from thy ir.irth awhile to ease the load Thy weary neighbor bears along life's road. 'Tls nht enough, the love so true and ten der, Plighted to-day beneath the mistletoe: The faith of friends, the sacred ties of kinship— Upon this day more warmth our hearts should know. I.et thy love flow, as tyoundless as the sea, Into the hearts of all humanity. 'Tls not ei ough, the dainty Christmas token. Though loving hearts with generous zeal have glowed; The bounteous charity, though free and tender, Is small beside the gift God's love be stowed. Put one lit offering mayest thou impart. Give unto Him a pure and loving heart. —Adelaide D. Reynolds, in Union Signal. (HRISWS GOODWILL trr ? SIDNEY I'AYSON MP wns fu " of 11,0 bit * term ss of Christ mastide. Thel'ay sons had been ' reared to Christ mas giving, and every I'ayson knew that he or she might expect a present from each of the other I'aysons, and so here was Mr. Sidney I'ayson (bachelor, mis anthrope and cynic) elbowing bis way along State street with the other shop pers. Mr. Parson would hare been utterly mist rable bad it not been for the fact that lie found a selfish joy in knowing that the Christmas season brought neither peace nor good will. He had reached that stage of soul distemper at which there can be no happiness except by the discovery of misery i.i others. Mr. Sidney I'ayson was the kind of man who loved to tell invalids that they were not looking as well as usual, and who frightened young liusbandsby predicting that they would regret having married. He made it a rule never to put the seal of approval on any human undertaking, and it was a matter of pride with him that he could find a sinist< • motive for every act which other people applauded. He dealt in sarcasm, was perpetually bored and might have lost all interest in life had it not been that he found a contin ued satisfaction in making himself feared and hated. Some of his pious friends used to say that Satan had got the upper hand with him, but there were others who intimated that it might be bile. Imagine the surly wrath and the sense of humiliation with which Mr. Sidney I'ayson set about his Christmas shopping! In the first place, togo shopping for Christmas presents was the most conventional thing that any one could do. and Mr. I'ayson. hated conventionalities. For another thing, the giving of a Christmas present car ried with it some e\idenoe of affection, and Mr. I'ayson regarded any sign of affection as one of the crude symptoms of barbarous taste and deficient educa tion. If he could have assembled his rela tives at a Christmas gathering and opened a few old family wounds, re minding his brother and his two sis ters of some of their youthful follies, thus shaming them before t he child ren, Mr. Sidney I'ayson might have managed to make out a rather merry Christmas. Instead of that, lie was condemned to go out and purchase gifts and be as cheaply idiotic as the other wretched mortals with whom he was being car ried along State street. No wonder that he chafed and rebelled ar.d vainly longed that he could hang crape on every Christmas tree in the universe. Mr. Sidney I'ayson was not only hu miliated. He was greatly puzzled. Aft er wandering through two stores and looking in at 20 windows he had been unable to make one selection. It seemed to him that all the articles offered for sale were singularly and uniformly in appropriate. The custom of givingwas a farce in itself and the storekeepers had done, what they could to make it a sickening travesty. This was Mr. I'ayson's point of view. "I'll go ahead and buy a lot of things at haphazard," he said to himself. "I don't care a blank whether they're ap propriate or not." At that moment he had an inspira tion. It was an inspiration which could have come to no one except Mr. Sidney I'ayson. It promised a speedy end to shopping difficulties. It guaranteed him a Christmas to his own liking. He was. bound by family custom to buy Christmas presents for his rela tives. He had promised his sister that he would remember every one in the list. But he was under no obligation to give presents which would be wel come and appropriate. Why not give to each of his relatives some present which would be entirely useless, inap propriate and superfluous? It would serve them right for involving him in the fool performances of the Christ mas season. It would be a burlesque oil the whole foolish custom of Christ mas giving. It would irritate and puz zle his relatives and probably deepen their hatred of him. At any rate, it I wouid be a satire on a silly tradition, and, t hank ness, it wouldn't be con- 1 vent ion aL Mr. Sidney Payson went into the first department store and found himself at the book counter. "Have you any work which would be appropriate for an elderly gentleman of studious habits and deep religious convictions?" he asked. "We have here tlie works of Flavins Josephus in two volumes," replied*the young woman. "All right; I'll take them," he said. "I want them for my nephew Fred, lie likes Indian stories." The salesgirl looked at him wonder in gly. "Now, then, I want a love, story," said Mr. I'ayson. "I have a. maiden sfster who is president of a Browning club | and writes essays about Ibsen. I wan*, to give her a book that tells about a girl named Mabel who is loved by Sir Konald Something-or-Other. Give me a book that is full of hugs and kisses and heaving bosoms and all that sort of rot. Get just as far away from Ibsen and llowells and Henry James as you can possibly get." "Here is a book that all the girls in the store say is very good," replied the young woman. It is called 'Yirgie's Hetrotlial; or, the Stranger at Birch wood Manor.' It's by Iniogcue Sybil Bcauclerc." "If it's what it sounds to be it's.just what 1 want," said Mr. I'ayson, showing his teeth at the young woman with a devilish glee. "You say the girls here in the store like it?" "Yes; Miss Simmons, in the hand kerchief-box department, says it's just grand." "All right. I'll take it." lie felt, his happiness rising as he ! went out of the store. liis joy shone in | his face as he stood at the skate coun ter. "I have a brother who is 46 years old j and rather fat." he said to the sales man. "I don't suppose he's been on the, ice in 25 years. He wears a No. 0 shoe, (iive me a pair of skates for him." A few minutes later he stood at the silk counter. "What are those things?' he asked, FOUND HIMSELF AT THE BOOK COUNTER. pointing to some gayly colored silks folded in boxes. "Those are scarfs." "Well, if you've got one that has all the colors of the rainbow in it I'll take it. I want one with lots of yellow and red and green in it. I want something that you can hear across the street. You see, I have a sister who prides her self on her quiet taste. Her costumes are marked by what you call 'unobtru sive elegance.' Well, I think she'd die rather than wear one of those things, so I want the biggest and noisiest one in the whole lot." The girl didn't know what to make of Mr. I'ayson's strange remarks, but she was too busy to be kept wondering. Mr. I'ayson's sister's husband is the president of a church temperance so ciety, so Mr. I'ayson bought him a buck horn corkscrew. There was one more present to buy. "Let.me see," said Mr. I'ayson. "What is there that could be of no earthly use to « girl six years old?" lOven as lie spoke his eye fell on a sign: "Bargain sale of neckwear." "I don't, believe she would care for cravats." he said. "I think I'll buy some for her." lie saw a box of large cravats marked "25 cents each." "Why are these so cheap?" he asked. "Well, to tell the truth, they're out of style." "That's good. I want eight of them —oh, any eight will do. 1 want them for a small niece of mine—a little girl about six years old." Without indicating the least surprise the salesman wrapped up the cravats. EETTERS RECEIVED RT MR. SID NEY PAVSONIN ACKNOWLEDGMENT ] OP HIS CHRISTMAS PRESENTS: I. "Chicago, 111., Dec. 27. —Dear Brother: j Pardon me for not having acknowledged I the receipt of your Christmas present. The I fact is that since the skates came I have J been devoting so much of my time to the reacquiring of one of my early accomplish- [ ments that I have not had much time for j writing. I wish 1 could express to you the i delight I felt when I opened the box and j saw that you had sent me a pair of skates. It was just as if you had said to me: 'Will, my boy, some people may think that you are getting on In years, but I know that you're just the same as ever.' I suddenly remembered that the presents which I had been receiving for several Christmases were intended for an old man. I have re ceived easy-chairs, slippers, mufflers, smoking Jackets and the like. When 1 re ceived the pair of skates from you I felt that 20 years had been lifted off of my shoulders. How in the world did you ever happen to think of them? Did you really believe that my skating days were not ov«rT Well, they're not. I went to th« pond !n Washington park on Christmas day and had more fun for two hours than ,I've had in six months My ankles were rattier weak arid 1 fell down twice, fortun ately without ar.y serious damage 10 my self or the ice, but I managed to get around and before I left I skated with a smashing pretty girl. Well, Sid, I have you to thank. I never would have ventured on skates again if it. had not been for the beautiful pair which you sent me. I was a little stiff yesterday, but this morning 1 went out again and had a dandy time I owe ti,» renewal of my youth to you. Thank you many times, and believe me to bt, is t.er, your affectio-nato brother, "WILLIAM." IT. "Chicago, 111., Dec. 26.—pear Hrotherr The secret is out! I suspected it all the time. It is needless for you to offer denial. Sometimes when you have acted the cynic I have almost believed that you were sin cere until I have observed in you some thing which told me that underneath your assumed indifference there was a genial | current of the romantic sentiment of the youth and the lover. How can I be In doubt after receiving your little book—a love story? "I knew, Sidney dear, that you would re member me at Christmas. You have al ways been the soul of thoughtfuiness, es pecially to those of us who understood you. I must confess, however, that I expected you to do the deadly conventional thing and send me something heavy and serious. I knew it would be a book. All of my friends send me books. That comes of being president of a literary club. But you are the only one, Sidney, who had the rare and kindly judgment to appeal to the woman and not to the club president. He cause I am interested in a serious literary movement it need not follow that I want my whole life to be overshadowed by the giants of the literary kingdom. Although I would not dare confess it to Jlrs. Peabody or Mrs. I-lutchens, there are times when 1 like to spend an afternoon with an old fashioned love story. "You are a bachelor, Sidney, ar.d I have long since ceased to (lush at the casual mention of 'old maid.' It was not for us to know the bitter-sweet experiences of courtship and marriage, and you will re member that we have sometimes pitied the infatuation of sweethearts and have felt rather superior in our freedom. And yet, Sidney, if we chose to be perfectly candid with each other, 1 dare say that both of us would confess to having known some thing about that which men oall love. Wo might confess that we had felt its subtle influence. We might even admit that sometimes we pause in our lonely lives and wonder what might have been and whether it would not have been better, after all. 1 am afraid that lam writing like a sentimental schoolgirl, but you must know that I have been reading your charm ing little book, and it has come to me as a message from you. Is it not really a con fession, Sidney? "You have made me very happy, dear brother. I feel more closely drawn to 3'ou than at any time since we were all to gether at Christmas, at the old home on the North side. Come and see me. Your loving sister, "GERTRUDE." 111. "Chicago, IU., Dec. 23.—Dear Brother: Greetings to you from the happiest house hold in Chicago, thanks to a generous Santa Claus in the guise of Uncle Sidney. I must begin by thanking you on my own aycount. How in the world did you ever learn that Roman colors had come in again? I have always heard that men did not fo.low the styles and could not be trusted to select anything for a woman, but it is a libel, a base libel, for the scarf whfch you sent is quite the most beautiful thing I have received this Christmas. I have it draped over the large picture in the parlor, and it is the envy of every one who has been in to-day. A thousand, thousand thanks, dear Sidney. It was perfectly sweet of you to remember me, and I call it nothing less than a stroke of genius to think of anything so appropriate and yet so much out of the ordinary. "John asks me to thank you—but I must tell you the story. One evening last week we had a little chafing dish party after prayer meeting, and I asked John to open a bottle of olives for me. Will, he broke the small blade of his knife trying to get the cork out. lie said: 'Jf I live to get downtown again I'm going to buy a cork screw." Fortunately, he bad neglected to buy one, and so your gift seemed to come straight from Providence. John is very much pleased. Already he h#3 found use for it, as it happened that Y. o wanted to open a bottle of household ammonia the very first thing this morning. "As for Fred's lovely books, thank good ness you didn't send him any more story books. John and I have been trying to Induce him to take up a more serious lino of reading. The Josephus ought to help him in tile study of his Sunday school les sons. We were pleased to observe that h€ read it for about an hour this morning. "When you were out here last fall did Genevieve tell you that she was collecting silk for a doll quilt? She insists that she did not, but she must have done so, for how could you have guessed that she wants pieces of silk above anything else in the whole world? The perfectly lovely cravats which you sent will more than complete the quilt, and I think that mamma will get some of the extra pieces for herself. Fred and Genevieve send love and kisses. John insists that you come out to dinner some Sunday very soon—next Sunday if you can. After we received your presents we were quite'ashamed of the box we had sent over to your hotel, but we will try to make up the difference heartfelt gratitude. Don't forget, any Sunday. Your loving sister, "KATHERINE." It would be needless to tell what Mr, Sidney I'avson thought of himself after he received these letters*--George Ade in Chicago Daily Kecord. SenMonalile, Teacher (in Sunday school clas»l Now, boys, see if you can remember what I taught you last time. What does B. C. stand for? "Before Christmas!"— Judge.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers