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“SOMETHING THAT WOULD
GROW.”
Margaret A. Richard.
When we talked of Santy—
All we hoped he’d bring,
Grandma, who loves flowers
More than anything,
Said: “Well I don’t care what
He brings me, you know,
So ’tis something pretty—
Something that will grow.”
Teddy, who loves grandma
Every bit as well
As she loves her flowers,
Said he would not tell
What he had just ready
To give her, although
It was something pretty—
Something that would grow.
Christmas morning, grandma
Flowers received galore,
Which she was enjoying,
When her chamber door
Teddy entered, with a
Kitty white as snow.
Saying: “Here is something
Pretty that will grow!”
Newberry, S. C.
*
EVIE’S CHRISTMAS GIFT.
Mr. Ross, after a hard day’s labor,
sat at his desk, with an irritable ex
pression on his face. His ledger lay
open before him, and he was trying to
straighten out some tangled accounts.
He was interrupted by a gentle tap
at the door.
“Come in,’ he called curtly.
Seeing that it was only Evie, his
five year old daughter, he continued
his work, and said nothing. Waiting
a few moments, with her small hands
clasped behind her back, Evie spoke
deliberately,
“Papa, I’ve come in to have a talk
with you.”
“Well, Miss Ross, be quick about it,
don’t you see that I am in a hurry?”
“Yes, papa, you are always in a hur
ry, but I must go to town tomorrow,
and so I’ve come to ask you to take
me.”
“Go to town —and for what?”
“I want you to make me ’quainted
with Mr. Santa Claus.”
“Santa Claus, the mischief, —Santa
Claus doesn’t come till Christmas, and
Christmas is two months off yet.”
“Yes, I remember that, but Santa
Claus would like to know what I
want.”
“And what do you want?”
“I want a mama, so that I can have
somebody to talk to. You see, papa,
it is awful lonesome with nobody but
my rag doll, or the cat, for me to say
a word to all day long.”
“But why can’t you talk to the
housekeeper?”
“No, never, I don’t like Mrs. Brown,
and she just hates children. I’ve heard
her say so so many times.”
“Who do you like then?”
“Nobody at all, ’cept Miss Bertha.”
“Why not, Miss Mildred?”
“I could never, never like her. She
says, ‘Poor little ugly thing, what' a
pity she didn’t die when her mother
did.’ Now, Miss Bertha never says
anything like that, and sometimes
when I say I wish I’d never been born
here, to be scolded at all the time,
Miss Bertha tells me that she loves
me and God loves me, and that he will
help me to be a good little girl. But
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papa, I believe a mama could help a
girl as little as me more than God,
don’t you —’cause you see He’s so far
away ? I don’t know what I’d done so
bad that day, I was cutting up a raw
turnip, ’cause I was most starved, and
I sliced into my thumb and most cut
it off, ’cause Mrs. Brown wouldn’t do
nothing. She don’t allow you to say
‘scat,’ no way, hardly—and if Miss
Bertha hadn’t been sorry for me and
tied my thumb, I might have died. But
Mrs. Brown wouldn’t care. One day
she said she hoped the Rag Man
w'ould come and catch me, ’cause I
fell on the fence and tored my dress
ujst awful, and she said I could sew
it up myself, that she didn’t intend to
put a stitch in it. And Miss Bertha
sewed it up for me. And now I want
to tell old Santa Claus to bring me a
mama like my own dear mama was,
and if there ain’t another like her,
bring me one like Miss Bertha.”
“Is there anything else you want?”
“Y-e-s,” the large childish eyes fixed
upon his, “I want a new papa.”
“Indeed, well, there’s Mr. Jones ’*
The child shook her head.
“Mr. Black? Mr. Oliver?”
“Oh, no, I want a nice kind papa
who’ll have time to talk to me some
times, who’ll smile at me when he
sees me. and love me as good as any
thing! I expect Santa Claus will have
to go right up to Heaven and ask God
to make me a new papa.”
“And do you think you could love
a new papa better than you do me.”
“Well, you see, papa, I’m not much
’quainted with you—”
The man’s head went down upon his
arm with a smothered groan, as his
thoughts reverted to three years back
when his beautiful young wife had
been taken from him. It was true,
he had neglected his child in that time
of overwhelming sorrow, and since—
since, then, too, he had not done much
toward helping her to get “’quainted.”
He lifted her up to his knee, and
twined thq little arms about his neck.
The Golden Age for December 24, 1908.
As she saw the tears on his cheek, she
murmured,
“I do love you papa,—but, oh, I want
a mama, too.”
Christmas dawned bright and beau
tiful, bringing joy to many expectant
hearts. None were happier than lit
tle Evie, when she awoke and found
the sweet madonna face of Miss Ber
tha bending oyer her, and Miss
Bertha’s tender assurance,
“Santa Claus has sent me to be your
mama, Evie.”
With cries of rapture, the child
stretched out her arms, and was
caught up to her new mother’s heart.
“Papa, papa, do come quick and let
me make you ’quainted with mama,
and oh, papa, won’t you love her and
kiss her as I do?”
“Indeed, I will, my darlings,” clasp
ing them both in a fond embrace.
The life-long happiness of three
hearts dated from the realization of
Evie’s wished-for Christmas Gift.
FINETA.
CHAT.
Another Christmas! How fast these
festivals come to some, how slowly to
others’: It does not seem so long since
I found my first Christmas stocking,
which I had hung up empty, in some
doubt and trepitation, miraculously
filled to- the top. And yet how many
Christmas days have come and gone
since then.
But the star that shone on Bethlehem
Shines still and shall not cease,
And we listen still to the tidings
Os glory and of peace.
The first Christmas celebration on
record was marked by a terrible trag
edy. A little band of Christ’s follow
ers had assembled to sing and pray
in commemoration of their Master’s
birth, when the building was suddenly
surrounded by the armed persecutors
of the Christians, the doors were bar
red and guarded and the house set on
fire. Every one of the devoted band
perished in that awful holocaust, but
the cruel death could not daunt their
faith and courage. Instead of crying
out for man’s mercy, they sang and
prayed to the last, their voices grow
ing fainter and fewer until the end
came.
At first, the first celebration of
Christ’s advent into the world, which
he was to transform by his life and
teachings, took place on January 6.
Later, and more thorough searching
of records, placed the date at Decem
ber 25. and this became the accepted
day of celebration, by order of Pope
Julius I, in the year of 337. Strange
as it may seem in this land of pulpits
and missions, there are a number of
persons who are ignorant of the mean
ing of Christmas. I have found this
the case among some white children
over twelve years old, and many ne
groes much older. Os three colored
girls, who could read, one said in
answer to the question, “Why do we
observe Christmas?” “It is the day
to give presents; the day Santa Claus
comes.” Another said, “It is a holi
day when folks visit and have good
things to eat.” Another thought it
was the day Christ rose from the dead.
Truly the heathen are not all on the
other side of the world.
There should be both in secular and
Sabbath schools, more general and
familiar instruction concerning the
character of Christ, his mission and
his life previous to his crucifixion.
His life, apart from his death, which
is most dwelt upon, should be held up
as our model for everyday living.
There is no life since the world began
so grand and beautiful, so radiant with
hope and love. It is a great poem, a
song to be sung by angels and mortals
alike.
Only good and hopeful thoughts
should engage our minds on this day
of days. Every one should try to
make at least one other fellow mortal
happier, by a friendly word or deed,
or a gift bestowed warm from the
heart.
Shall I tell you what a little club of
women in my home town are going to
do on Christmas eve? They are go
ing—each one —to send some nicely
prepared food, and also a little present
of something useful or pretty to the
home of one of their number, where
the gifts will be made into neat pack
ages and put in baskets, which a mem
ber will take around in her carriage
to the homes of several poor and in
valid people on the outskirts of town.
Think of the pleasant surprise these
gifts bestowed with words of cheer
and friendship will bring to these poor
people! There are two families liv-*
ing just in the country who are every
one invalids, through overwork, expos
ure and poor food, whose cold, open
cabins have been warmly ceiled this
fall, the lumber and work being paid
for'by contribution* from this little
club, none of whose members are rich.
The club will not forget themselves
on Christmas. They will have a din
ner, v.u which each will contribute,
and when it has been enjoyed, there
will be placed on the center of the
table a huge Jack Horner pie, covered
with tissue paper, concealing a varie
ty of Christmas gifts from the mem
bers to one another, each gift to be
drawn from the pie by a ribbon at-
