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OLD SANTA FINDS A WA Y:
The Christmas bells were ringing from the steeples high and low,
The big, wide world was mantled in a robe of stainless snow;
Old Santa Claus was on the way, his reindeers racing free
From chimney-top to chimney-top—o, ’twas a show to see!
The stars were laughing in the skies, the winds they sang a song
Os old time Christmas jollity, as Santa rushed along.
The sleigh-bells made more music than an orchestra that night;
The roosters flapped their wings and crowed as if their hearts were
light. , .
The little boy sat by the hearth, eyes brighter than the stars
That blossomed, like fair immortals, with Jupiter and Mars,
And listened for the coming of old Santa through the snow,
Until he heard him cry, “All right!” to his reindeers below.
Then off to bed the little boy, half frenzied with delight,
Scampered beneath the comforts soft, and pulled the cover tight
Up over his gold-tangled hair, over his chubby face,
Except he left a peep-hole at one tiny little place;
And then he all a-tremble in his eagerness and fright,
Lay still as any mouse could be while Santa came that night.
And then he heard old Santa talking softly from the roof,
And then he heard him blow the fire adown the chimney—“ Woof!”
And then he heard him say out loud, “There’s fire in the grate!
The little boy must surely know I haven’t time to wait.
Now, how could any one expect me down this hole to slide,
When this old chimney’s hot enough to take off all my hide!
The little boy must wait until I come next Christmas night,
By that time he will know enough to cool the chimney, quite!”
The little boy was listening, and he almost cried aloud,
As grief and disappointment swooped upon him, like a cloud.
And then he heard old Santa say, “I just can’t leave that boy
A-waiting ’till next Christmas without one single toy.
Let’s see, how can I climb down there?” he laughed aloud, “I know!
I’ll cool this hot old chimney with a wagon-load of snow!”
MISS CRANE’S CHANCE:
CHAPTER IX.
T was Sunday by the bells and the
calendar, and the flickering shad
ows and sunshine of an April day
fell silently in the brown forest
stretches around the town. There
were hints of green here and there
in the sere undulations of the land
scape belts of pine, with single
trees showing conspicuously farther
I
— o A V
on in their spring livery against the dull back
ground of half leafless woods. At long inter
vals the red flame of a maple torch burned
against the horizon, and the white blossoms of
the dogwood glowed in spots on the panoramic
canvass unrolled from the hills.
The Crane household were seated at the
breakfast table, in the dining room once so
dear to the master of the house. It was paneled
in oak half way to the ceiling, with high man
tel of the same material, while over it, framed
in with the wood, was a magnificent picture in
oils of a sunset in the Sierra Nevada mountains.
This picture seemed to radiate color and calm,
and all the nameless glory, mystery, and ma
jesty of the everlasting hills. A few studies
of wild game in water colors were disposed at
intervals along the walls, and just facing the
chair at the head of the table was a replica of
“The Gleaners.” A broad oak cabinet, which
seemed almost to spring out of the paneled
wall, revealed through its glass doors the sil
verware of three generation of Powhattan
Gray’s ancestors, while a quaint buffet on the
other side, and a serving table completed the
furnishings of the room.
The breakfast table was very attractive in
its appointments this morning, for in the lace
centerpieces on the white damask cloth, was
set a tall Bohemian vase filled with mist ferns
and snowballs, with which the rare old china,
cut-glass bowls, and glittering silver seemed
easily to harmonize. Miss Crane sat at the
head of the table, Gordon More at the foot,
with Nell and his wife facing each other on
the sides.
The Golden Age for December 19, 1912.
“Well, I hope you all feel equal to a long
walk,” Nell said, with a glance around the
table, “for a little bird has whispered to me
that the head of the house has issued an ulti
matum to that effect for us today.”
Gordon stirred his cereal musingly. “Why,
what is the matter with the tonneau and car
riage?” he inquired.
“Nothing,” the girl returned with a smile.
“But Aunt Caroline believes that servants
should have as much of a holiday as possible
on Sunday, and that means in its last analysis,
a simple dinner for us, and the delightful privi
lege of walking to church.”
Mrs. More threw up both hands dramatically.
“That is not all of it,” she exclaimed, “there
is an ulterior reason I know, in your subcon
scious mind, Miss Caroline. So please be good
and give your family the benefit of it.”
“Well, I was reminded by my pastor yester
day,” Miss Crane admitted, “that the wealthi
est woman in the town owed the duty of a fine
example to this community, on more than one
line, so I thought I would begin at home, with
a humorous smile.”
Mrs. More flashed the sparkle of her own
particular individual comment across the table.
“Begin! I wish he had dared to lecture me,”
she declared, “for then I would have told Paul
Carnes —if he is a high potentate, college-bred
and cultured —that eharity begins at home.
And if we have got to walk to church, just to
show the charm of simplicity, and considera
tion to our town world, then I think I’ll turn
Universalist and go to the nearest place of wor
ship.”
Gordon put down his knife and fork to ap
plaud, while Miss Crane and Nell laughed mer
rily. For they all knew that the lady in the
becoming heliotrope morning gown liked to
indulge in certain kinds of mental explosions.
“Well, Miss Nell,” Gordon inquired as he
helped her plate to beefsteak and hominy,
which side are you going to be on in the war
of the roses?”
“Neither,” Nell declared, “for I am going
Old Santa drove his reindeers down to where the snow was deep,
And while he sang and laughed, piled high a heap of snow — a heap!
And then up to the chimney-top his load of snow he drew;
The boy was so excited that he didn’t know what to do.
He heard old Santa Claus above just rolling down the snow
It fell a-sputtering in the grate that glowed red-hot below;
Just piles and piles of snow he crammed in that old chimney’s mouth,
'Till it was pleasant, all the way, as Winter in the South.
Then Santa, with a jolly laugh, came gliding through the steram;
The little boy could see him in the moonlight’s gentle beam.
His face was full of wrinkles, and each wrinkle was a smile.
He was so good and clever, you could feel his love a mile.
His pack was full of presents, and he strewed them all around.
If this old world was his to give, he’d give it, every pound.
He left a gift for mother, and one for dear old dad,
He left the servants pretty things, so that they might be glad;
But what he left the little boy ’twould take a week to tell —
An auto and a hobby-horse, an airship and a bell!
The boy could ’most have shouted as he watched old Santa Claus
Spreading his gifts, with lavish hand, and then he watched him pause;
Old Santa came tip-toeing through the moonlight to the bed,
And bent above the little boy and smacked him on the head!
The chubby little arms shot out above the cover white,
And caught old Santa ’round the neck and hugged him close and
tight!
Old Santa gave a hurried hug, and up the chimney flew!
“I can’t stop here to love you, boy, no that would never do.
I’ve got the world to love tonight! Be good, and kind, my lad,
And when you wake tomorrow morn, may all the world be glad!”
Old Santa cried out merrily, while from the room he flew:
“Good night, be good to mother, you’ll be happy if you do!”
By ODESSA STRICKLAND PAYNE
to follow your illustrious example, and sit se
renely on the fence.”
“I hope you do not think,” Gordon answer
ed, “that I am so utterly devoid of chivalry, as
to let my wife fight her own battles?”
“Why not?” Nell asked, “since she wields
such a bright blade, and does not need your
aid?”
“Aunt Caroline,” Mrs. More interrupted,
“Gordon and Nell have declared war to the
knife between us.”
“So be it,” Miss Crane answered with a
smile—'having enjoyed to the full the bright
fencing across the breakfast table. “But all
the same, my children, you will all mind me.
Go to church, and walk, too, not so much for
the sake of example, as because it is the right
thing to do.”
And they did, for one and all of them real
ized that Miss Crane intended to rule in the
great house, and yet she was so good to them
in manifold ways, that they did not think of
condemning her.
The next morning Nell sat writing in the
private sitting room upstairs. She had been a
young business woman, and she was trained
to keep her emotional self in subjection. But
as often as she glanced at the grand face of
the portrait which hung over the mantel, she
sighed involuntarily. Her aunt’s story seemed
to her to be such a heart-breaking tragedy.
And she was unselfish and unworldly enough
to wish, that he might have lived to marry her.
“Even if you had lost all your money, Uncle
Powhattan,” she said, looking with misty eyes
up at the portrait, “she would have been hap
pier than she is now. Because, you see, slid
loved you so.” Jjl
Miss Crane entered the room just as
ished her soliloquy. She was dressed in adl
street suit, her hat on, and her purse
hand. “Why, how lovely you
Caro,” the girl exclaimed. “That
cred toque, really and truly transfojM
to quite a grand dame.” jfl
(Continued on Page M
By ARTHUR L. HARDY
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