THIw OLD MAN'S CHRISTMAS.
It ts t»iM, like a beautiful dream; but sweet
\\ the dream to me;
For the cl. Inn cami as in thedaysof old.
and cuddled around my knee;
And 1 told them the tales 1 used to tell
er? m> .ocks wt-rt> thin and gray-
To tl. other children of m> love: The
children that went away!
I forK' t tli vacant places— the fall of th»
wintry snow;
In the of their rosy faces 1 lived in
tho Long Ago;
I lived ;n thu lung ago; but the l'resent
was perfect then—
for ull ot the bitter snow that falls on
the lives of men.
T only knew they wire nenr me. In a
world made new again.
And the Whiter violets of T.lfe were
rimmed with the Springtime rain;
I felt their kisses sweet on my withered
cheeks and cold;
Ar.d saw, over threads of silver, the
gleam of their curls of gold.
It is like a beautiful dream; with
all tlie song? that were sung;
Ai d 1 feel, in the after Silence, that the
world is for the young;
And thanks be to God that the world is
»o, w Ith ail its sunny years-
Thai at least, one time in our lives we
know kisses, and love, and—tears!
•-F. L. Stanton, in Atlanta Constitution.
Singing River's
Christmas
Being Ma'am Hickey's Story of
a Celebration That> Still Lives
By J. L. HARBOUR
(From a Story by that author published In
St. Nicholas.)
Ma'am Hickey's account of the Christ
mas tree at Singing River is so much
more interesting than any account I
could gfve of it, that 1 think it best to let
her tell about it in her own way:
"You see, Big Dan an' Joe Burke got
back all right the middle of the afternoon
the day before Christmas. They looked
like a pair o' pack peddlers, an' they were
about fagged out, for they had had a hard
time of it pullin' up over the mountain
trails in a snowstorm. Joe said he didn't
think he could have dragged himself an
other mile for love nor money. He had
two big turkeys on his back besides a
great lot of other things.
"Well, the men in the camp had been
busy, too. They had cut a big pine an' set
It up in the hall over the post office, an'
the way they had dee'rated the hall with
evergreen was beautiful. You couldn't
see an inch of the ugly bare logs nor of the
bare rafters. They set to an' scrubbed the
floor an' washed the winders, an' strung
up a lot o' red, white and blue buntin' I
happened to have in the house, an' I tell
you the little old hall did look scrump
tious. I kep' the children in the kitchen
with me, where I was makin' pies an'
cake an' doughnuts most o' the time. I
give 'em dough to muss with, an' let '®m
THE DOOR OPENHD AND A STHONG
MAN STEPPED IN.
scrape the cake dishes, an' tried to keep
'em interested all the time, so they
wouldn't ask about their pa.
"Vv'h>2ii Big Dan an' Joe got back, the
other men had a great timeriggin' up the
tree. We was afeerd they wouldn't be
able to buy Christmas tree candles in
Crystal City; but, my land! they got
about ten dozen of 'em, an' no end o'
tinsel an'shiny ballsan' things to hangon
the tree, an' lot o' little flags to stick in
among the evergreen dee'rations. We
had no end o' common taller candles on
liand, an' the men were perfectly reckless
with 'em. I reckon they put as many
as 200 of 'em up around the room.
An' what did they do but go an' rig
Big Dan up as Santy Ci.ius! They
wrapped him up in a big bearskin one o'
the boys had, an' put about a quart o'
flour on his long, busky whiskers to
whiten 'em, an' they put a big fur capon
his head, and he did look for all the world
like Santy his own self. Yes; an' he had
a string o' sleigh bells they got at the
stage office stable; an' them boys
ac.kshully cut a hole in the roof so Santy
Claus could come down through it! La,
if you want things carried through re
gardless, you let a lot of Rocky Mountain
boys take it in hand. They won't stop at
oothin'. I reckon they'd h'isted off the
bull roof if it had been necessary to make
the appearance of Santy true to life. Such
fun as the boys had over it all! An'of
all the capers they cut up! Seemed like
they were, all boys once more! Me an'
Ann Dickey an' Mary Ann Morris were
the only women in the camp, an' we had
our hands full gettin' up the Christmas
supper we intended havin' after thetrpe.
Mind you, there wasn't a child in camp
but just them two pore little orphans, an'
all that fuss was On their account. If you
think rough miner boys can't have the
kindest o' hearts, you Just remember
that. Every man seemed to be tryin' to
outdo the others in doln' somethin' for
them 1 ittle folks.
"Well, I jest wlshtyou could have seen
I hem children when the time come for
'em togo up to the hall an' see their
tree! Little Freddy he give a yell o'joy
that most split our ears, an' he Jest stood
an' clapped his hands, while his sister
:ep' savin': 'How lovely it is! Oh, is
n't it beautiful?' Then Freddy he
schreeches out: Oh, there's my choo
choo engine! Goody!' An' how little
Elsie's eyes did shine when she saw no
less than three dolls on the tree for her
self! Thpre was enough stuff on that
tree for a hull Sunday school, for the
men had been that reckless in sendln"
to Crystal City for things.
"Then I wisht you could have seen
those children when Big Dan come it) all
rigged up as Santy Claus! That was the
oapshraf o' the hull proceedin's! First
we heard his bells outside, an' hint call
in' out, 'Whoa, there!' like as if he was
talkin' to his reindeers. Then he clim up
the ladder the hoys had set outside, an'
presently down he came through the hole
in the roof. I jest thought little Fred's
eyes would pop clean out o' his head when
that part o' the show come off! An' what
fun there was when old Santy went
around givin' the boys all kinds of re
diculous presents! He give old Tim
Thorpe a tiny chiny doll, an' big Jack
Ross a jumpin'-jack, an' Ben Anderson
a set o' little pewter dishes; an' he
fetched me a great big old pipe, when
they knowed I hated the very sight o'
one. I tell you, it was real fun?
"Well, the things had all been dis
tributed, an' the children were loaded
down with presents, an' ir.e an' the other
two women were about togo downstairs
to take up the supper, when the door of
the hall opened, and a strange man
stepped in. When he saw the children
he give a kind of a little outcry, an' the
next minute he was down on his knees
before Vm, with an arm around each
child, an' he was klssin' first one an' tlun
the other. We all jest stared at each
other when little Elsie clapped her hands
together and said:
" 'Why, papa!'
"An* that's jest who It was! The mnn
named Miller, who had died a few days
before, was a cousin o' the children's pa.
It seemed that this cousin o' the name of
Miller had been sent to meet the children
because their pa had been sick an' wasn't
hardly strong enough to come away over
to Singin' River for them. He lived in a
little camp only about 20 miles away, but
it was a hard road to travel for a well
man, even. So this cousin be come, an',
from all we could make out, he had lost
his way in a storm, an' had laid out a
night an' got so chilled it had brought
on pneumonia. When he didn't come
back with the children after two or three
days, their pa got oneasy. an' he set out
himself to see what was the matter. He
wasn't hardly fit to travel, but he come
anyhow, an' he was all tuckered out when
he got to Singin' River. Then he was so
nervous an' kind o' wrought up that no
one thought it to his shame that he jest
broke clean down an" laughed an' cried
by turns, kind o' hystericky like, over the
children.
"We did have the best time at the sup
per! A storm had come up. an' the wind
was roarin' and' howlin' in the caynon
an' up an' down the Slr.gin' River, an'
the sleet was dashin' ag'ln the winder
lights: but that jest made it seem more
cheery an' comfortable in the cabin, with
a roarin' fire o' pine knots in the big fire
place at one.er.d o' the cabin, an' the tea
kettle singin' on my big shinin' stove at
the other end. Mr. Miller he set between
the two children, an' he'd hug and kiss
'em between times. We made him stay
two whole weeks in Singin' River forest
up an' get real well, an' then a hull passel
o' the boys went with him to get the chil
dren home. The boys rigged up a sled,
an' tuk turns drawin' Elsie an' Freddy
over the trails an' away up over Red
Bird mountain. I reckon it was a ride
they won't ever forglt; an' none of us
that were there will ever in this world
forglt that Christmas on the Singin'
River."
Santa Cla\3S Jokes
Merely n
Dimmieli —Is your mother-in-law at
your house now?
Kickshaw —Yes, and I don't know
what to get her for a Christmas pres
ent.
"She lives at Philadelphia, doesn't
she?"
"Yes."
"Then why not buy her a ticket
home?" —Harlem Life.
The Old Stunflhy*.
Mrs. Cobwigger—Here is a printed
list of suitable presents for a wife to
give her husband. Mark the ones you
would like best.
Cobwigger (after reading list) —I
think I would be satisfied, my dear, with
anything that was not mentioned here.
—Judge.
Still Stunclh'/ic to Do.
"Has your wife finished her Christ
mas shopping?"
"Yes. She expects now to be able
to putin all the rest of her time look
ing at thing 3 she might have bought
for less money if she had only known
it."- —Chicago Record-Herald.
Out of the lhirly-Unrly.
Jane —I never had such a miserable
Christmas month in all my life.
Martha —What's the matter?
"Why, I got a silly fit, and did all
my Christmas shopping two months
ago."—Detroit Free Press.
Clone Quarter*.
Jaggles—Why are you storing so
much of your furniture?
Waggles—l live in a flat and am
trying to make room for the Christ
mas tree. —Town Topics.
ftnlitle Revenue.
Kate —I never liked my brother In
law.
Laura —Why don't yon knit him a
necktie for a Christmas present?—
Somerville Journal.
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS. THURSDAY. DECEMBER 17, 1903
| \ HVJOIIN 11. UAIIKIITV.
/' ' i'pV UA It was pretty late to attempt getting
/ !| them back, but they would try. The
j M clerk made some notes, rattled off a few
'' ''' /ill) words about the terrible rush, moved
| m 'ujJjr oft" and left the colonel standing dazed
WJ IfllJ in the crowd. He went home, and as a
j I'# W precaution got out of his trunk a
strangely carved bracelet, antique, ori
£ j I ental—a noble present, he thought, for
his niece; and for his nephew an old,
bejeweled war mask —it had been a
mandarin's. And he took them to Mrs.
Murdock, saying nothing of their great
/' '/ " value, and said they were for her girl
i and her boy. But after dinner that night
Mr. Murdock tapped at the colonel's
112 „ door, spying:
1' 112 "I hope you won't think of giving
those rara curios to the children, colonel.
r They're worth their weight in money."
I "Didn't cost me a cent, Murdock,"
' blurted the soldier. "They're part of the
Col. Battersly, not having seen his
sister in ten years, decided to spend
Christmas at her house. A desultory
correspondence had made him vaguely
aware of the fact that her husband, Cal
vin Murdock, had grown rich, and that
she had two children, a boy and a girl.
Hut he was not prepared for the luxuri
ant conditions which he found upon en
tering their splendid home. He was
sever estranged from his sister, but
when she married Murdock the soldier
brother had made up his mind that his
sister's husband was not "his kind."
In frontier barracks and foreign camps,
Col. Battersly's life had been lonely.
He was a silent, elemental, passionate
man. whose rigid habits gave a cold and
even hard exterior to a nature essential
ly tender.
But the Murdocks gave Uncle Batter
sly a grand welcome. His sister kissed
him, the two children gave him their
handswith trained graciousness, and the
head of the house said: "Welcome to
the warrior—see, the conquering hero
comes!" This made the old campaigner
ill at. ease. He blushed like a girl, and
thereafter found restraint in the, to
him, artificial atmosphere of the grand
house.
When the Christmas presents began
to arrive, and his sister showed them to
him, the colonel suddenly realized that
he must buy something for the children.
H<s said nothing about it, but spent half
of the next day buying for his niece a
French doll, with a complete wardrobe,
and a fully equipped steam battleship
for his nephew. It was a soldier's
choice —love and a child for the little
woman, power and war for the little
man."He was very careful about the
address, "Mrs. Murdock, 2441 Penrose
street."
He wondered why his gifts did not
Boon appear in the grand array, but said
#w/ /
3) 1
SPENT HALF AN HOUR BUYING A
FRENCH DOLL.
nothing to his sister, showing each day
| an increasing interest in the accumulat
[ ing presents in the locked room, and
I finally, on Christmas eve, late in the
day, going back to the store where he
| had made his purchases to ask what
! had become of the doll and the war
i ship. It took a long time to find out the
right man, but at last a very polite
1 clerk who had been answering questions
i as fast as a dozen people could ask them,
turned to him and said:
"Murdock? What address? Penrose
street or Penrose avenue?"
"Are there both?" asked the colonel,
1 as the possible blunder dawned on him.
| "Yes; one on the West side, one on
; the South side. Where did you wish
| your goods togo?"
! Of course, Penrose avenue 1r on the
I South side and Penrose street is on the
West side, and Col. Battersly had hirn
j self made the mistake. The goods had
j been receipted for, the clerk told him.
IT WAS A DIRTY, TUMBLE-DOWN
COTTAGK.
—well, the 100t —that is, I picked 'em up
in China and —they—the children will
appreciate them more us they grow
older."
Murdock walked away without an
other word, but that night the woman
told her brother, softly and with evi
dent desire to be grateful, that "papa
was so scrupulous, he didn't want the
children to receive such presents."
So the brother, flushing red, took back
his barbaric gifts and went to bed. In
the morning, soon after breakfast, he
went out of the house, called a cab, and
bade the driver take him to 2441 Penrose
street. The doll and the battleship had
not arrived, and he wan going after
them. Ke got out of the cab in a squalid
street, and went into the only house in
the block. It was a dirty, tumbledown
cottage, built below grade and with a
sign "For Sale" nailed to the rickety
fence. A thin woman, in an old, faded
wrapper, came to the door.
"I came to see if —"
"Oh, I knew somebody ud come," she
interrupted him. "I knew they wasn't
for us, sir—won't you come in?"
He s f epped into the dingy room and
saw a big-eyed, frail girl of seven fond
ling the great French doll.
"You see, sir," said the woman,
breathless to explain, "the things come
while I was out—l work over at the shoe
factory, and—my name is Murphy, sir—
and when the things come nobody was
home,* sir, but Mamie and the boy. He's
mine, and he's out there now playin'
with th' steamboat, and when the wagon
came, Mrs. Tracy, she lives in the next
block, she seen it, and she ran over and
signed a book, and the driver jumped
on his wagon and went away, an', of
course, the children seen the bundles
an' nothin' would do but they must open
'em. That's all. sir; we didn't want to—
I hope you don't think we'd steal 'em."
She was out of breath now, and the
two children—the boy, a sturdy lad of
ten, had come in—were staring, fright
ened, at the colonel. He looked at them
a moment and then at the mother.
"I don't understand you, madam," he
said. "I called to look at the house. It's
for sale, you know."
He saw the look of anxiety pass from
her homely face. The children, delight
ed with the reprieve, ran back to their
splendid toys. He made a show of look
ing through the stuffy rooms, and when
he was going gave each of the little
ones a coin.
"Good-by, madam." he said to the
mother. "You have two fine children.'"
And when he was in the cab again he
stroked his gray mustache and
chuckled:
"It was a lucky blunder, after all. I'll
go down to the store in the morning and
tell 'em It's all right."—Chicago Record-
Herald.
J FRANCES STOREY'S 112
J * HAPPIEST a
I | CHRISTMAS |
By HILDA liICHMOND
"Papa says one of you girls must
accept Aunt Caroline's invitation for
the i-olidays," said Mrs. Storey, with a
troubled look on her motherly face.
"I am sorry to have you goto that
dead-alive little village, but you know
papa seldom says 'must,' so we will
have to make the best of it. Now
which will it be?"
"It's simply impossible for me togo,
mamma," said Margaret, whirling
lightly around on the piano stool. I've
practiced for weeks on this Christ
mas music and the entertainment
could not goon without my playing.
Frances or Kate will have to sacrifice
this time, and it's only fair, for they
have not so much on their minds as
I have."
"Why, Margaret, my time is as pre
cious as yours," said Kate, looking up
from the new dress she was finishing,
"and besides I am going to sing at
the party next week."
"I might go if someone would finish
dressing these dolls for the tree down
at the mission. Poor Aunt Carrie
must be lonesone since her only
daughter went to Oregon to live and
I'd like to see her again. She used tci
let us make little pies and muss
around in her clean kitchen, and at
home Sarah never allowed us to spoil
her domain," said Frances.
"I'll attend to the dolls," said
Margaret, promptly, "and help yon
pack your trunk if you need help. I
have no doubt you will have a good
time at Cedar Hill, for Aunt always
thought so much of you."
In spite of her 19 years the whole
family considered Frances a mere
child and no one but the mother
thought it made any difference that
she was to spend the holidays in a
lonely house with Aunt Caroline, in
stead of having a share in the city cele
brations, which she so much enjoyed.
Mrs. Storey slipped a number of pack
ages marked "open on Christmas eve"
in the big trunk and provided a sty>
lish traveling dress, but her heart
welled as the trim figure disappeared
amid a chorus of farewells and the
noise of the busy station. Mr. Storey
gave his daughter some bright gold
pieces with the instructions to spend
them as she liked, but Frances reflect
ed that she was likely to bring them
home gain for want of a chance to
invest in anything except goods found
in a country store at Cedar Hill.
It was late in the afternoon before
the brakeman announced "Cedar Hill,"
and Frances was surprised to see a
number of passengers get off. "Is this
really Cedar Hill?" she asked of an
old man near.
"It really is," he answered with a
smile. "If I am not mistaken, you
are Fanny Storey that used to play
with my granddaughters. Don't you
remember Grandfather Devon?"
"Of course I do. How are Nellie and
Ruth? The reason I thought this was
not Cedar Hill is because the town
when I knew it, was only a little place,
and this looks like a city."
"We've had a boom since those days.
H»re, Horace, help Miss Storey with
her luggage. I can take care of my
self. This is the young lady who used
to play with the girls a dozen years
ap;o, but I don't suppose she remem
bers the freckled boy who built play
houses for her."
"Yes I do," said Frances, shaking
hands with the elegantly dressed young
man. "You always built the very
nicest houses of any boys we knew,
Mr. Devon, and I still recollect them
with pleasure."
All this time they were leaving the
tra4n and looking for Aunt Caroline,
who evidently had not received the let
ter announcing Frances' visit, for she
was not in sight. "We'll take you to
Mrs. Howard's, for she lives close to
us," said the young man, loading him
self with "Sissy's" baggage. "You
never weld find the old house without
a guide, for factories and stores an 4
churches have sprung up in such pro
fusion that it is entirely overshadowed."
"I wish mjmma ?.nd the girls could
see me now," said Frances, gazing at
the latest styles in dresses in a store
window. "Mamma cried to think of
my coming to ;nls out-of-the-way
place and I very nearly started with
only a satchel, thinking I would only
need a few clothes. We write and get
letters from Cedar Hill so seldom that
I never dreamed of the change I see
to-day."
"You'll be glad enough you brought
your trunk, for things are lively during
the holidays."
"What is that beautiful building we
are coming to?" inquired Frances, as
they neared a stone structure that
might have graced a city.
"That is the public library," said Mr.
Devon. "I suppose you have a supply
of books in that big trunk for fear
there would be nothing to read In our
town. I won't mention it to the citi
zens though, for fear they might put
you on the first train for home. There
is Mrs. Howard on the porch. She
knows you."
The days that followed were busy
ones for Frances. She sent a telegram
telling oi her safe arrival and found
only time for the briefest notes till
after Christmas, on account of the
many places togo and the delightful
things to do. Aunt Caroline enjoyed
the company and the frolics to the
utmost and urged her niece to make
the old house as lively as possible.
The girls and boys sha played with
years before flocked to see her. bring
ing friends with them, till Frances
declared this the nicest visit she ever
had in her life.
"You and I are the committee on
dolls foi the poor children's Obri.4maa
tree," said Horace, coming into the
parlor where Frances was putting up
holly for the great da>. Imagine
waiting till three days before the
twenty-fifth before looking after dolls!
But it's not. their fault, for Miss Gray
would have attended to it if her moth
er had not taken sick. Coine, get your
ounbonnet and we'll make short work
of the infants."
"I'm going to buy son"' ':andy and
fruit for the people at the hospital."
said Frances when the dolls were dis
posed of. "Papa gave nie some gold
pieces to spend and they are burning
holes in my pockets."
"A good idea. I'll go halves, for I
feel like celebrating, too."
Over and over again Frances wished
the folks at home could see her during
the happy holidays. Every letter as
sured them that she was having a (ins
time, but it is impossible to put the
spirit of good times on paper. The
Christmas tree for the Sunday school
of Third street, church was a complete
success and then the young people
trooped off to the mission to distribute
gifts and candy to the factory people
who could not attend "the big church
up town."
"Are you homesick, Fanny?" asked
Nellie Devon, with an arm around
Frances as the gay crowd sat waiting
for the clock to strike 12 on Christmas
eve In Mrs. Howard's old-fashioned
parlor. "I don't want to remind you
of home or maice you sad. but you
must have so many pleasant, things to
do in the city that we never heard
about."
"I don't know what they are,"
laughed Frances. "I think I could give
the president information about 'The
Strenuous Life' since I've been here.
; "HERE. HORACE. HELP MISS STOREY
OFF WITH HER LUGGAGE."
This is the busiest and happiest holl
| clay time I ever had. except that I want
| all the folks at home to enjoy it. too."
"You must all come to dinner to
! morrow —no. to-day—" said Mrs How
ard as the young people started home.
"It has been so many years since I
had such a flock around me that I must
make the most of it.l want Frances
to have a good time so she will want
to come every year."
Frances felt a touch of self-reproach
on Christmas morning when she re
membered the neat little parcels she
was to have opened on the evening be
fore. She had fallen Into the happy
sleep that visits the pure-hearted with
out a thought for the lovely time she
was having and a little prayer for her
family and friends. As she smoothed
out the note slipped through the beau
tiful ring, she smiled to read the ten
der message—"My Dear Daughter:
I hope this will be the happiest Christ
mas of your life to reward you for
1 giving up your own pleasure to gratify
i Aunt Caroline. Many happy returns of
j the day, sweetheart. Mother."
Mrs. Howard found time on Christ
-1 mas day for a long letter to her broth
! er, in which she said, "You must be
! prepared to give us your little Fanny,
1 for I am sure Horace Devon has per-
I suaded her that Cedar Hill is a good
I to spend a lifetime. He is a
J rising young architect and has a fine
| place in the city, to which he goes
| every day. This may sound like strange
j tales, but I did not want the news to
| strike you too suddenly. Of course the
J young people are not rash enough to
! make plans far into the future without
| consulting you, but I can find no fault
| with their anticipations. Horace is
But Mr. Storey had laid down the let
! ter with a bewildered look that plainly
showed his pain and astonishment.
His wife expressed no surprise, though
tears came into her eyes as she said,
"You might have taken a hint from
the child's short letters in which she
spoke of being perfectly happy. I have
been hoping this would bo a happy day
for her, but I am not quite prepared
to say I like the realization of my
wishes."
With the light streaming through the
stained glass windows on the ever
green and holly wound around the
stately pillars of the church and the
Christmas music in her ears Frances
found it hard to keep her thoughts
from the mental picture of the bare
little church Cedar Hill had boasted
in other days. "Glory to God in the
Highest," sang the sweet voices just
as the choir in the church at home
was doing at that very moment, but
there was no homesickness in her
heart.
Under cover of her big hymn book
Horace Devon softly pressed her slim
hand while the ushers seated late ar
rivals in the little pause that followed
the anthem, and she smiled to think
her mother's Christmas wish had
come true. —Baptist Union. ,