WHEN * A SATFIR CLAUSE WETFF WOOING V By Tv, JOfi IjNGOLM - " (Copyright.) "The best woman on Cape Cod or anywheres else; that's what I call her. Fust time ever I see her, I says ter myself, 'Shadrach Peters,' says I, 'that's the lady you've been lookin' fer all these years.' I made up my mind then that she was <?oin' ter be my wife, and what I once say I stand behind. You know me." The coasting schooner Guess Again, of Falmouth, Mass, Shadrach Peters, master, was rolling and pounding through the icy waters of Vineyard Sound. Capt. Peters, who had just made the assertion above quoted, was seated on the locker at one side of her cabin, with his feet braced against the stationary table. His first mate, Mr. Alvin Small, was seated opposite, with his feet braced against the side of the table. "Yes, sir-ee!" went on Capt. Peters; "Sophrony Baker is all right. She's a widder, she is, and they tell me that she's got two of the nicest boys ever was. I ain't never seen 'em, 'cause last September, when I was in Orham, they was visitin' their uncle over in Barn stable, but I feel it in my bones that 'twould be a pleasure ter be a father ter them boys." "What I don't understand," said the mate, slowly, "is what you're goin' ter do with them things." "Them things" were prominently displayed on the cabin table. There ■was a red coat, short and trimmed with cheap fur; red trousers, fur-trim med like the coat; a big fur hat, fur topped boots, and a white wig and long white beard. Such was th'i collection wnich called forth the mate's wonaer. "I cal'lated they'd puzzle yer," said the skipper, rather proudly; "but they're part of my scheima. Here's t'other part." He pulled from the locker beside him a canvas bag. Opening it he displayed wooden horses, tin soldiers, pop guns and toys of various descriptions. "Now yer see, don't yer?" he said; "Santy Claus." "Santy Claus?" said the mate, who began to look as if he entertained sus picions of his superior's sanity. "Yes, Santy Claus. When yer want ter please a girl yer tell her how pretty she is; ain't that so? When yer want ter please a woman yer tell her she looks younger tnan she ever did; ain't that so? Well, when yer want ter make a ten-strike with a mother, yer do yer bast ter stand in with her children; ain't that so?" Mr. Small said he wouldn't wonder If 'twas. "You bet it is!" said the skipper, en thusiastically. "Well, now yer under stand 1 ain't never asked Sophrony if she'd have me, but, from what I've gathered in the h'af-dozen times I see her, I figgered that she wa'n t dead sot agin me. But 1 want ter sort of clinch things, yer understand, oO this is my scheme. She told me once that she allers had a Christmas tree fer the children on Christmas Eve. Ter night'll be Christmas Eve, and my idee Is ter run the Guess Again inter Orham harbor, 'stead of keepin' on ter Bos ton. Then I'll take my bundles over ter the shore, lug 'em up somewheres near her house, rig up in my Santy Claus duds and bust in on 'em jest as they're havin' the tree. Presents fer the boys, oceans of 'em. Then I'll say ' PPF "JVotu yer see, don't yer?" he jaidt **Santy Claus." ter the widder, 'Mebbe you think Old Santy didn't bring you nothin', but he did. Here, that's fer you.' " "That," held out for inspection on the captain's sunburned paw, was a somewhat showy but expensive ring. The mate's eyes expressed admiration and astonishment. The skipper con tinued: " 'That's fer you,' I'll say, 'on one condition. - Yer must take me with it' Hey. how is that?" "Bully!" said the mate. "Ain't it bully? Yer see, the chil dren will be awful tickled, and she'll be pleased to think 1 took so much pains ter please them, and the ring'll show her that I don't mean ter be <*tin?;y with her, and take it all ter ser, it looks ter me like a winnin' Huation. But, of course, I ain't had no experience. You think 'twill fetch her, don't yer?" "Sure," said Mr. Small, with convin cing enthusiasm. "And you'll stick by rne, land me in the dory, and won't say nawthin' ter the second mate ner none of the hands?" "Sartin, I will." "Alvin," said use skipper, with emo tion, "you're a brick. Mebbe 1 ».an do as much fer you some day. Have a cigar. Hlessed if 1 ain't gittin' narvoua already." It was the ice in the lower bay which threatened to wreck the captain's won derful scheme. The Guess Again bat tered and plowed her way through the lloating fragments, but her progress was provokingly slow. Twilight found her some miles from the mouth of Orham harbor, and with the pack ice ahead im penetrable. 1 "Tide's settin' in," said the exasper ated skipper. "This stuff won't loosen up none till ebb, and that's an all-night job. Everything's up spout. I never did have no luck." "I was jest wond'rin', captain," drawled the moderate Mr. Small, "if 'twouldn't be possible ter set yer ashore In the dory somewheres along here. Seems ter me you said the lady lived down ter the north'ard end of the town, and there seems ter be consider'ble open water over ter le'ward here. You'd have ter walk three or four mile, but bein' as it's so important—" "Don't say another word, Alvin," cried the delighted skipper; "I don't see why I didn't think of that myself. Shows two heads are better'n one, don't it? And I won't have ter walk no four mile, Ne ither. D'yer see that inlet over there with the streak of open water through it? Well, that's Eel crick, and lie*! crick is the outlet of the Clam pond. What's the matter with you rowin" rue up the crick and the length of the pond—two mile, or mebbe three? Soplirony's house is only a little ways from the up per end of the pond." "But won't the pond be froze over?" " 'Tain't likely. It's salt water, and there ought to be a strong tide. Any how, we'll reskit; come on.'" Capt. Peters went below to pack up his costume and presents, while Mr. Small superintended the anchoring of the schooner and getting the dory over side. When the skipper and he pushed off they left a second mate and crew bubbling over with curiosity. The bundles which >?{\ y il ] 1 U \ \>\ \ \\ \ N 'v fcVx -v\-x < "/ tucij jest buond'rin'\ Captain, if 'tU'culdn't be possible ter jet yer ashorm in the dory jometuheres along herm." the dory carried were conjectured to contain anything from burglars' "swag" to smuggled whisky. Eel creek was open for its entire length, but Clam pond appeared, unfor tunately, to be frozen all over. It was dark by this time, and the mate advised returning to the schooner and giving up the expedition for the night, but the anxious lover would listen to no such proposition. "I'll walk acrost the pond on the ice," he said; "it 'pears ter be solid enough fur's we can see, and it's by long odds the shortest cut. ter Sophrony's. Chuck out them bundles and I'll start. But the bundles were heavy and very clumsy. The captain tried carrying them in various positions, but ended by throwing them down on the ice and swearing vehemently. Then the mate had another idea. "I tell yer, Cap'n Shad," he said; "there ain't no use in luggin' them Santy Claus duds. You put 'em on, and I'll take yer other clothes back ter the schooner. Ter-morrow I'll bring 'em round ter the hotel. The Guess Again will be in the harbor by mornin', more'n likely." "Hotel! Yer don' s'pose I'd go ter a hotel in them red fire signals, do yer? That ain't a bad idee of yours, though. I tell yer what. I'll ask the widder ter let me sleep in her barn ter-night, and J'ou git my reg'lar clothes round early in the mornin'." It was a chilly change and a slow one, for the captain persisted in dancing about on one leg and yelling adjectives to the cold. At length, however, he stood forth garbed in the red suit. "Are yer goin' ter put on the wig and whiskers?" asked the mate. "Yes, yes; I'll put 'ein on. It's the easiest way ter lug 'em. Besides, mebbe they'll keep my ears warm. There, that's ail right. What in time are yer grin nin' at?" _ . "Oh, nawtfcin'," gasped the purple faced Mr. Small; "I was only goin' ter —ha —he—sneeze." He tramped off into the darkness, leaving his subordinate to roll about in the bottom of the dory with his hands tightly clasped over his mouth. The captain's walk began well. The night air was crisp and bracing, the ice appeared to be firm and to extend over the entire surface of the pond. But one cannot see far on a dark night, and salt water ice at its best is treacherous stuff. i CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1903. An hour later the stars were treated to the somewhat unusual spectacle of a nautical Santy Claus, seated upon his pack in the middle of a floating cake of ice, and expressing his opinion of the situation with fluent and blasphemous vigor. On Christmas morning, just after breakfast, Peter Baker, aged 11, com monly known as "Spuds," was on his way to the Clam pond to test his new rubber boots at the "Spring hole." "The "Spring hole" is the name given by the townspeople to a portion of the waters of the pond lying along the norlh ern shore. It is half a mile long and nearly as wide, and does not freeze ex cept in the very coldest weather. Peter was accompanied by his bosom friend, whose age was nine, and who re i ! r „ — d Are yer goin' ter put on the Utig and tuhijKcrj." joiced in the nickname of "Gizzard." This personage had been christened Hartwell Doane, but Hartwell, in the mouths of his playmates, soon shrank to "Hart," and from heart to gizzard is but a step. Peter's younger brother Abner accompanied the party, but, as he was only six years old and played with dolls, he didn't count. The rubber boots were a Christmas present. Peter had wanted a mechan ical locomotive and a blank cartridge pistol, but had received the boots and a "Young People's History" instead. He was wroth, but the boots were there, so he felt it his duty to see how deep he could wade without "goin' over the tops of 'em," which has been the test of rubber boots since boyhood first made their acquaintance. When the boys came in sight of the pond Abner ran on ahead, while Peter and Hartwell followed more leisurely, as becomes people of experience and big boots. "What's Ab yellin' about?" queried Hartwell. Abner, standing at the top of the sand bluff overlooking the '"Spring Hole," was dancing and screaming in great ex citement. "Santy Claus!" he screamed; "Santy Claus!" "He b'lieves in him," said Peter, scornfully; "he ain't old enough ter know that Santy Claus is jest yer folks. What about Santy Claus, Ab?" he yelled. "He's down here. Hurryup! Quick!" "Sees somebody he thinks is Santy," commented Hartwell. "He don't know any better. Ain't nothin' but a kid. What is it, Abby? Jiminy Crickets! Spuds, look there." The "Spring Hole" was steely blue in the morning sun, and two or *'.ree cakes of ice were drifting about its surface. One of these was floating about 50 yards from the shore below, and on it sat a figure dressed in red, with a fur hat and white hair and whiskers. "By gum!" said Hartwell; "I b'lieve it is Santy Claus!" "There ain't no such thing," said Peter, "and you know it, Gizzard. It's some feller dressed up." "He hollered ter me," said Abner. "There, he's holler'n ag'in." "What did he say, Spuds," said Hart well, after they, had listened for a mo ment. "Said fer us ter take Gabe Blanchard's dory and come and git him ashore." ' "He swore, then," said Peter; "that "Hy gum!" jaid Hartbuetl."l b'tiexte it ij Santa C/auj." proves it ain't Santy Claus. Santy Claus wouldn't swear." "Yes, he would," declared Abner, stoutly, "if he was floatin' round the Spring Hole on a cake of ice." "Lee's go' git him off. anyhow," said Hartwell, and they scrambled down the bluff to the beach. Gabe Blanchard's dory, which he used for visiting his oys ter bed, was anchored close to shore. The boys climbed in, and the two older ones took the ores. "He's settin' on his bag of presents," announced Abner, who was perched in the bow. "I bet there's all kind of dandy things in there." "Hold on a minute," said Peter; "I've thought of somethin'! Stop rowln', Giz zard. Who are you?" he called to the voyager. The captain did not answer. He had acquaintances in Orham, and he much preferred that the news of his mishap should not reach their oars. He was trying to invent a name, when Abner saved him I he trouble. "Ain't you Santy Claus?" called the latter. "Yes,'that's it; that's who I am," cried Capt. Peters; "I'm Santy Claus." "What'll yer give us if we take yer "Give yer? Give yer? Why, I'll give yer each a present out of my bag." "Is that bag full of presents?" "Sartin." "All right, then," cried the triumphant "Spuds," "we'll take yer off if yer'll give us the whole bag full!" "The whole bag full!" gasped the in dignant captain. "Why, you greedy lit tle brats, I'll give yer what Paddy give the drum, that's what I'll give yer. The whole bag full! You come here and put me ashore mighty quick." "Not unless you give us that bag of presents. If you're Santy Claus you can git lots more. Besides, you've been mighty stingy ter me and Gizzard this year. I didn't want yer old rubber boots and hist'ries, and he didn't want no worsted tippet, neither. Will yer give us the bag?" "No!" roar'ed the captain. "All right. Pull fer the shore, Giz zie." The dory's bow swung toward the beach, and the captain changed his mind. It would be only a temporary loan, he argued. He could regain his property as soon as he got aboard the dory. "I'll give 'em ter ye," he called." Come on.and take me off." "Not till we git them presents. We'll stay here, and you can undo the bag and pitch 'em to us, one at a time." It was galling, but to argue was use less. The bag was opened, and the toys tossed one by one into the hands of the boys in the dory. The empty bag was then thrown in, and the bankrupt Santa Claus again demanded to be taken aboard the dory. But the crafty Peter knew bet ter than to allow it. He untied the rope from the dory's anchor and tossed the free end to the captain. "Hold on ter that, and we'll tow yer in,"he said. "Abner, put them things back inter the bag." Slowly the dory with the ice cake in tow n«ared the beach. As the boat's bow touched the shore, Peter and Hart- The bag tvaj opened and the toyj to j Jed out one by one to the boyj in the dory. well with the bag of presents between them leaped to tne sand and scampered up the face of the bluff. By the time the captain had pulled his clumsy craft to land they were high up on the crest of the hill. "You young rascals!" roared the irate skipper; "I'll see you some other day. There's a good time comin'." Another than Capt. Shadrach Peters would have returned to the schooner and have postponed his call upon the widow till a more auspicious occasion, but the skipper of the Guess Again was determi nation itself. He had said that he was going there, and what he said he stood behind. People knew him. He deter mined to wear the wig and whiskers, as they might serve to conceal his identity should he meet any of his Orham ac quaintances. Little Abner Bakif had not fled with his elder brother and Hartwell, but had ! hidden behind Blanchard's flsh shanty. ! He had determined in his small brain; that the chance of gazir.g upon Santa Claus did not offer itself twice in a life- i time, and that he ought to make the best j of it. He resisted thelonging to examine j the contents of the bag, and when Capt. j Peters started down the lane that led i to Mrs. Baker's, Abner followed him. Jimmie Ellis was leaning over his front fence, and Abner hailed him. "Come on, Jimmie," he screamed. "It's Santy ; Claus!" Jimmie's yell of delighted surprise ! brought out five other little Ellis hope fuls, and the captain's following grew in numbers. He turned, saw his satellites, and quickened his pace. "It's Santy Claus!"«creamed the chil dren. "Hooray!" Otis Gaines' numerous progeny joined the troop. So did the Bellows youngsters. The captain's progress was becoming a triumphal procession. Ahead, where; the houses were more numerous, windows were opening and people were hurrying to their front gates. Children were racing from all directions. The skipper left the lane and began to run across the fields. His whooping pursuers did likewise, and the chase was on. It led over hills and through bushes. Across the surface af frozen, flooded cranberry swamps, ar.d over stone walls and fences. The crowd now included men as well as boys, and the shouting was tremendous. The fur hat was left hanging on the wild cherry bough which scraped it off. One fur-topped boot stuck in the mud, when the foot which Ifc adorned broke through tht Ice of Ziby [ F'lsher's ditch. The knees of the red trousers were scraped through on the frozen hummocks of Nickerson's field. It was a panting, ragged wreck of a Santa Claus, who. after shaking off his pursuers in the pine grovo behind the Widow Baker's domicile, crept down in the shadow of the stone wall and dodged in at the kitchen door. The kitchen was empty, and the skip per sat down in a chair and regained his breath. His temper was entirely gone, but it was some satisfaet ion to know t hat he had reached his destination unrecog nized. "They may find out about it after ward," he soliloquized; "but mebbe I'll have somethin' ter show fer it then." He heard voices in the parlor and sur mised that they were those of the widow and her boys, but, when he tiptoed to I The crottid notit included men aj buel! aj boyj and the jhoutinjj toaj trcmen dou J. the door and peeped through the crack, he saw that he was mistaken. The widow was there, but the boys were not. She was talking with a man whom Peters did not know, but whom he dis liked at first sight. He was a fat, smil ing, smooth-shaven fellow, and a glib talker. It was plain that he was very well satisfied with himself, and thought every- J one else shared his opinion. Then, too, | his chair was much too near the widow's, and he beamed upon that lady in a man | ner which the captain considered disgust : ing. "Yes," said the smiling individual, "they cal'late he was an escaped lunatic, ! though where he come from nobody j knows. He was dressed in some sort of ! an outlandish rig with fur onto it, and | the boys say he told 'em he was Santy j Claus. Haw, Haw, ha!" "A lunatic!" exclaimed the widow; "how dreadful! I declare, I'm afraid ter | stay here alone. Suppose he should run ! right inter this house." "Well, I thought of that, Sophrony. j That's one reason why I called. Seem's ! if you needed a man ter protect yer, don't it? Now there wouldn't no luna ; tics hurt yer if I was here." The significant look which accompa- J nied this speech fired the captain's soul. It was with difficulty that he held him | self in check, and waited for the next I sentence. "Now, Sophrony, I think a heap of ' you, and you know It. That's why I says to myself, 'Barnabas Badger,' says 1 j I, 'that business of Sophrony's has hung I j fire long enough. It's time you stepped ! round and made her yer offer.' So here I be, and I'm goin' to make it. So phrony—" "Hold yer tongue!" The widow screamed and sprang to her feet. Mr. Badger's chair, which J had been tilted back upon its two rear ! legs, tilted still further and deposited its occupant in an ungraceful heap j upon the floor. Capt. Shadrach Peters j stood in the middle of the parlor car- i pst. "You git!" roared the captain, ad- j dressing the prostrate Mr. Badger, and j pointing to the door. "Lord! It's the lunatic!" gasped ; the fallen one. "Oh, Barnabas, protect me!" screamed the widow. "Who —who are you?" faltered the | champion thus appealed to. "Never you mind. I ain't used ter havin' ter repeat my orders, and if 5 - ' 4iif P 1 I '"But. Cap'n Vetera, hatu am / to Hfiotu that you really care for me." you ain't out of here in one minute, you'll have a lesson in flyun'. What I say I stand behind. That's what folks say who knows me. Now, git!" "Oh, Barnabas, don't go!" pleaded the trembling Soplironia. "I —I guess I'd better, so's to git help," stammered Mr. Badger; "I guess—perhaps—l—had." The last word was spoken in the dining room. The protector had fled. "Now then, Sophrony," said Capt. Peters. "I'm sorry to bounce your company in that fashion, but I ain't been through what I've been through jest to stand by and see another chap I ; make his offer ahead of me. Will you s I marry me?" > Mrs. Baker gazed with terror-strick .i en eyes at the mud-bespattered, be i draggled object before her. ! "Marry you?" she repeated. "Why i I don't know you. "Don't kflow me! Sophrony Baker, can you look me in the face and say you dou't know me?" : The captain's wig was over one eye, . his false beard was pulled under tho left ear. his nose was scratched and so were his cheeks. "Well, well!" said the skipper, mournfully, "I knew I'd been through enough to turn a body's hair gray, but I'm blessed if I thought 'twould change | me so my friends wouldn't know me." jHe put his hand to his face. "Good ' land!" he ejaculated, "I fergot I had on iliem trimmin's." lie tore off the wig and whiskers. "Now d'yer know me?" he roared. "Why—why, I do believe it's Captain | Peters!" cried the astonished widow. 1 "What does it all mean?" j Then Capt. Shadrach Peters unfold led a plain, unvarnished tale. He told ;°f his scheme for pleasing and sur j prising the widow and her children. I He told how he went astray in the j dark, and, after several narrow es ; capes, stepped upon a brittle tongue of • ice, which brolre nnd floated with him out into the "Spring Hole." He feel ; ingly narrated the story of the robbery iof his bag of presents. He described the chase and its mishsns. Bi't mo~e I than all he dwelt upon his undying de-' | votion for Sophronia Baker. "But, Capt. Peters," said the blush ing Sophronia, "how am 112 to know that j you really care for me?" "How?" said the dilapidated suitor, j looking down at the remains of hi 3 i costume. "How? Why, say, do you think I'd be da—that is, d'you think I I'd be fool enough ter go and git this way fer my health?" Then the ring was brought forth and exhibited. "Why it says 'From Shadrach to So phronia,' " said the widow, reading the inscription. "I should like ter know, Capt. Peters," she added with a slight toss of her head, "why you took it for granted that I would marry you?" "Why, Sophrony? Why, because I started out ter git yer, and I will git yer, no matter if there's 50 lubbers with 'offers' in the way. I've said that I'd marry you, an' I will, if I have ter raj ! I ~ "Sophrony, /'*Je atbuayj fmlt it in my hones that it tvoutd be CI pleajuro to b* j a father to them ttuo boyj." I wait 20 years. What I say I staad be ; hind. You know me." "Oh, well, then," said the matter-of fact Mrs. Baker, "if that's the case then I'd better say yes at once and save time. But, really, Shadrach," she ; added, "I ought to tell you that the j gentleman was only my Cousin Barna | bas, who'd been talkin' of buyin' my ; wood lot and who'd come over to offer ! me a price for it." When the valiant Mr. Badger re , turned to his cousin's residence he was accompanied by a hundred men and ! boys armed with pitchforks, clubs and | brickbats. They were prepared to cap ture, the lunatic at all hazards, but they I were not prepared to have that per son meet them at the door with his ; arm about the plump waist of the wid i ow. I As the disappointed crowd was leav ; ing, Mrs. Baker saw her two sons ; slinking away with it.and called them | back. "Peter, you and Abner come here | this minute," she commanded, j "Are them your children, Sophrony?" ; asked the petrified captain; "them two, there?" "Yes, certainly, Shadrach. I forgot you had never seen tnem. Boys, why don't you look at t-ie captain?" A smile, somewhat grim, but denot ing Intense satisfaction, slowly spread over Capt. Peters' face. "Sophrony," he said, "I've always felt it in my hones that It would be ft pleasure ter he father ter them two boys." i lie Helped Some One. "No," he said, disconsolately, "I wasn't able to do anything for Christ mas." "Why not?" "Oh, I only had a little money, and I put it on the wrong horse." "Well, don't feel downhearted, old man. Your money probably helped out somebody's Christmas all right enough."—Chicago Evening Post. Mtnee Pie I11«tor7'. Christmas mince pie was originally a compound o. the choicest spices and edible productions of the orient. It was eaten in commemoration of the offerings of the three wise men who carried rare spices, frankincense and myrrh from afar to the infant Christ born in the manger. Not the Clirlstmnft Rind. i It is not the rainy-day stocking that gets hung up at Christmas. —Judge. t
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers