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