The Clinton chronicle. (Clinton, S.C.) 1901-current, December 11, 1919, Image 12
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AN MORRIS had
run away from
his heme on the
farm and none
of the family had
heard a word
concerning him
in the three years
that followed.
Dan was the
youngest of three
children — “hei
baby,” as old
Mrs. Morris ab
ways said—and
hated farm work
“If brother Jim
likes it, let him do it,” he had told the
family defiantly. ‘‘I’m going to some
big city where a fellow has some
chance to see life and make his for
tune. I’m through with haying all day
long in the scorching sun, milking
cows and feeding hogs, and then hav
ing to sit in the dark on the porch
listening to nothing but frogs and
katydids until you have to go to bed
if you want to get up in time to do it
all over again next day. I’m through,
I tell you!”
The family had tried to reason with
Dan, but it was of no use. One morn
ing they found him gone, leaving only
the briefest note of good-by to his
mother. And now the tyird Christmas
since his going had conae and {he fam
ily itself was going In to the big city
to spend holidays with Julia, who had
married and lived there.
Ordinarily Julia and her husband,
with little Bobbie, came out to the
farm visiting the old folks and
brother Jim at Christmas, but this
year Julia had a new baby, scarce
four mon&s old, and hadn’t felt equal
to the trip. So father and sweet-faced
mother Morris—their hair already
white and with the years’ anxjety for
their missing Dan reflected in wrin
kled faces—packed up all sorts of
home-made eatables in baskets and
had sun-burned brother Jim take
them for the first time to the big city.
S It was a bewildering adventure to
those simple souls; each incident of
the journey and novel sight after ar
rival was a never-to-be forgotten ex-
perielfce. Fred, Julia’s brisk and
Kihnaprh Ig
CJlmta
BY OOODLOEH. THOMAS
My dad sezonce they lived a boy
’Us bound that be would see
OldSanta Claus—an’ had no joy
Fer dunkin’ how Tud be
To hidc behind a screen an? wait
Till Santa come
TKen watch him waiSn*lo“5P
around,
alfePUT
Verses.to Send With
Christmas Presents
it)
m.
With Embroidery or Any Needlework.
May all your years be fiad and bright,
Deep filled with pleasant days.
And all your hours know sweet delight
Of love that lives and stays!
With some such wishes, true and kind,
Each Christmas should begin.
While some of. these must surely bint
J ““BwaiiSi*■'Ttrey'Vir been sewed in!
crate—
Without a word or sound.
Well,ChristmasEve,this boyleton
’At he was sound asleep,
An’when he knowed the rest had
gone
To bed, he went a-creep
Down stairs—an’ gracious!—
watcha think 1
He run against him—smack!
Old Santa, yes-sir—’n quick as
wink
That boy *uz in his pack.
With a Gift to a Smoker.
Wnen clouds of smoke around you float
Think sometimes of this loving (friend
ly) (cordial) note.
When pictures In the smoke you see
the
Waft now and then a thought to me,
But though you newer joys evoke,
Don’t let our friendship “end in smoke.”
With a Box of Candy.
"Sweets to the sweet,” the wise old saw,
I quote because ‘tis fitting.
And tribute pay unto the law
With gladness unremitting,
“Like uQto like'' is also true,
Therefore these candies haste to you.
1 With Music or Musical Instrument.
Because the very thought of you.
Makes music in my mind,
Pray let me share the music true.
The sweetest (gayest) (brightest) I could
And.
An* ever since that boy has been
Strapped up an’ has to go
With Santa, fer just that one sin,
Through miles of ice an’snow;
An’ yon bet I ain’t gonna take
Nochanctlikeihat—not quite!
You’ll find 'at 1 won’t be awake
When Santa comes to-night.
all wrapped and tied ready for the
tree, but not to be opened by anybody
until Christmas morning. Here’s—
why, mother! You’ve got one parcel
here marked wrong I It has Dan’s
name on It!”
Mother Morris dabbed at her eyes
with her handkerchief.
“Please, don’t laugh, at me, chil
dren,’^ she said sadly, “It’a my Dan’s
Christmas as much as it is that for
With a Laundry List or Bag.
Thla gift ia clean, aa you may aee,
So, every time you’d cleaner be
Juat send a pleasant thought to ifte.
To “Her," With a Pair of Glovea.
O little thumbs, and Angers, too,
I can but wish that I were you,
rell her—but no! She’ll understand.
WfthxrBookr^-
I cannot make new. worlds
Yet these closed covers
for you
true—
Be pleased to enter in my name!
To a Lady, With Slippers.
O pretty slippers.. small and slight.
Be sure to lead her steps aright;
And when her dainty feet you hold.
Guard them alike from hurt and cold.
With Shaving Materials.
Should you cut yourself in shaving,
Don’O-blame—me!
Small effect has bitter raving
When the wound one may not see.
But should your razor smoothly glide,
Include me in your smile so wide.
With Any Christmas Gift
Here’s a thought of joyous cheer
For Christmas and for all the year!
to keep my poor pld grandma Morris,
who’s gor white hair now, from wor
rying and crying any more over her
boy Dan. You see. Mister Santa,, my
uncle Dan ran away from home a
long, long time ago, before I was born,
and my grandma keeps saying she
can’t rest until she sees him again.
She’s visiting my papa and mamma
at home now, and I saw a present she
has all wrapped up and labeled for
uncle Dan if you’ll be good enough to
find him and bring him out to our
house tonight. Won’t you do that,
please, mister Santa?”
With a choking cry the white-
whiskered one stumbled to his feet,
any the rest of us, and I I was
hoping that maybe we’d find him here near iy upsetting his little snow .house
in the city now that we've come here
ourselves.”
It was pathetically absurb, that
barren little hope of the bereaved old
mother, but PQQf of them even lat
her them smile at It.
The afternoon - before Christmas
and searching Bobbie’s wonder-round
ed eyes ia hungry disbelief.
“Yon are Julia Morris’ little boy?"
he muttered dazedly. “And you say
: |hat.... that your grandmother realty
“Pm Bobbie ^Wallace."
hearty husband, welcomed them at
the station and thrilled them with a
ride out to their daughter’s apart
ment on the elevated railway. It was
a joyous reunion, but—as mother said,
with a. sudden break In her voice—
“it can’t be as if my baby, our Dan,
were here with us too.”
“There, there, mother,” said father
Morris, patting her quivering shoulder
consolingly. “You mustn’t think about
Dan just now. He’ll return to us some
day when he’s become rich and fa
mous. Just look hbre, Julia—and you
too, Fred!—all the mouth-watering
stuff that Ma’s brought you from the
farm. Home-chUrned, uncolored but
ter rolls those are! And , here's
three stuffed six-pound turkeys that
were gobble-gobbling around the
bams r ,ir dors ago. I ley, litile
FZ-h ! D you tve j < • v of jam ,
•>* • r wate^c-'lrn p’^kley? And
'a. ■ .n. i.4 .• * u>er.b
Julia persuaded her husband to take
little Bobble dowtyown so that he
could not surprise her trimming the
tree. Brother Jim and the old folks
went along.
Little Bobbie naturally was most
of all interested in the toy depart
ments and hardly could be made leave
hold some of the playthings he most
fancied.
“Oh see, daddle! A hofsle that
rocks, with a mane and bridle and
ever’thing!.... And oh, grandma!
lookit! looklt! There’s a real live
Santa Clans talking to those other
little boys and girls!"
It was indeed. The big store had
hired a rather shabby-looklng yonng
man that week, who for $15 was sup
posed to sit at t|^ door of an imita
tion snow house and solemnly encour
age visiting youngsters to tell him
their fondest wants in the line of pres
ents. Little Bobbie was impatiently
waiting in line, holding fast with one
chubby fist to his father’s hand, in no
time. Mother and father Morris) and
big brother Jim watched and waited
smilingly for them on the edge ol
the crowd.
“Well, my little man, what Is your
name?” asked the scarlet-coated and
long white-whiskered Santa' Claua in
a 'tired, husky , voice when Bobble’i
turn finally caipe. .1
“I’m Bobbie Wallace, dror Mr. Santa
Claus, and I live at 5601 Byrne street,"
the boy chirruped at him, rouqd-eyed
and devoutly believing in the identity
of Santa. “My mamma’s name is* Julla v
Wallace and I’ve got a little baby
sister now, too."
The long-whiskered Santa patted
his head in perfunctory weariness.
“And what do you most want me to
pat In your stocking this Christmas
Eve, Bobble?” he asked with a side
long glance at the tolerantly smiling
father.
“We—ell,” drawled Bobble tracer
tainly, "there are lots and lots ol
things I want awful, awful much,
Mister Santa Claus, but I heard ay
mamma r;ay this morning that iff
ever s<-* much nicer to wish for thing!
for those that love you than for your
self. So I... I guess, I ought to ask you
wants her worthless runaway Dan to
come back to her? ....is waiting here
in the city for him now? Oh, my
God!”
Fred, Bobbie’s father, caught at
the Santa’s arm as he reeled un
steadily sidewise as if about to faint,
and in so doing knocked off the bushy
white whiskers.
“Aw!” wailed Bobbie, facing his
first childish disillusionment, “he isn’t
a real Santa after all!"
Back through the amazed and
rather Indignant crowd of shoppers
old mother Morris was coming as fast
as her trembling legs would permit,
and above the noise and calls of
clerks at the counters, could be heard
her thrilling, quavering outcry:
found my lost boy at last!’
A Gift From Santa
When God’s Revelations Come.
It was while they were watching
their flocks—the common duty of their
common days—that the word of
Christ’s coming was brought' to' the
shepherds. It is when we are faith-
“Danny! Oh, Ddnny! Danny 1 I’ve I fully busy with common duties that
God’s revelations usually come to us.
For a Good Little Girl
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Mm# (Mfristmas
f lnoe you, unchid, may clasp her hand,
«“ '
Whether it be prattled on baby Bps
that scarce can shape the words, or
saying them, thinks not, but only feels
* 5 insensate averflow_ of. giving,
)m a soft, full heart.. •
Although it be mumbled inarticulate
ly by the shabby nonentity whose
whine for charity one acknowledges
in the spirit of the season, even
while knowing that the words be
said in servile mockery ...
If it be breathed by mother mouth,
the sad, sweet lines of which were
molded so by a yearning, prodigal
ring de*
With Picture of Some Rural Scene.
If your thoughts of town axe weary.
Rest your eyes and dream,
Gazing on this plctur* cheery
Of woodland (rural) (springtime) (ver
nal) vale and stream; * 4
Remember* that had I my way.
Such joys would greet you every day.
tenderness and an unfaltering
votion, be itsobject worthy or not;. *
Whether it be panted from between
the warm, moist lips of maidenhood
—tremulous, palpitant, shame-faced
and shy because of an ardor which
it dreads to comprehend ...
Although it be uttered by maid,
matron or man, friend, chance ac
quaintance, tradesman or servant .
Hbrnf GUpiatmaa to to fxmra
By DE LYSLE FERREE CASS
A Few Dorits
for Christmas
Don’t court indigestion. j
Don’t grumble, whatever you do.
Don’t half fill the kiddies’ stockings.
Don’t give presents which will be
useless.
Don’t forget the mistletoe. Romance
still lives.
Don’t fnrget that It ought TO Pe a
berry Christmas.
Don’t deny the little ones’ ideas
about Santa Claus. i
Don’t worry about unpaicLbills—at
any rate until tomorrow. •
Don’t scoff at the lingering super
stitions of the good old days. I
Don’t for the show of . things, buy
presents which you can’t afford.
Don’t expect too many presents.
Take what you get and be thankful.
Don’t, if you get up on your wrong,
side, make everybody else miserable.
Don’t forget to think at least once
during the day what Christmas really
means. j
Don’t give a present unless you want
to. Better not give at all than give in
sincerely.
Don’t forget that the giving of
Christmas boxes, like, charity, should
begin at home. ■
Don’t, If you are a girl, stand under
the mistletoe until yon see the-right
chap approaching.
• Don’t kiss somebody else’s best girl,
even though she Is under the mistle
toe. There might be a row.
Don’t work on Christmas day if you
can avoid it. If you have to, however,
don’t make a song about it.
Don’t give Johnnie a trumpet and
Peter a whistle and expect to have a
quiet time. It’s unreasonable.
, Don’t put olttbuying presents until
the last minute. You’ll get better value
and avoid the crush If you shop early.
Don’t send an electric runabout to a
freezing widow with five starving chil
dren. This is like throwing a rope of
pearls to a drowning man.
Don’t look pained when somebody
tells a fifty-year-old, Christmas story.
-That’s one of the unavoidable circum
stances of the festive season. ' /
Don’t give a new song to some one
who doesn’t sing; but be still more
certain that you don’t give a new song
to some one who imagines he can sing.
Don’t refrain from giving because
you can’t afford to -give much. The in-*,
trlnsic value of a gift counts for noth
ing. It is the thought which prompts
It that matters.
Don’t Iqt tlie wife give you a Christ
mas, present in the form of cigars. If
'she persists in doing so, don’t smoke
them—give them away again, without
letting her know about It, of course.
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HP-
(Styriatmaa
iUana Can?
We cannot picture it
without seeing the
spangled Christmas
tree girt with the faces
‘ gleeful youngsters,
gfeeknarents, and
happybodies return-'
ed home fnrni town or
far metropolis It
sounds lihe bells and
crachling logs and
shouts of children.
And even/our old,
round-shouldered,
sorro^wrfdden planet.
his eye Knoched
>ut on his cheeh,
pauses to smile from
sea to sea, and love is
everywhere rejuve
nated.
JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
Tasted Buaplclouai
“My dear, did you make this Chria
mas puddingjrout of the cook book?”
“Yea, love.”
"I thought I tasted one of the co
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