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)!k»- r. THURSDAy, DECEMBER 11, 1924 s 4. G MM THE CLINTON j-'V SFS’' 'zi — HI ft >»#499, Br W. E. GILROY la Th*t §♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦>•♦ ttM IIIMBB T HERE'S not n memory of homo, or friend, Be they so far remote, however lowly; No place where new affections richly blend That does not grow more beautiful, iftpr*. Jmly,. r At Chris tmaa e>/M>W tr 4*’ e^»riMBW< ■■X Grandma’s 1 ^ Christmas ^ By Frank Herbert Sweet (©, 1914, Weetern Newspaper Union.) D O N’T k n o w," sighed gentle (Jrandma Burke. "I thought I was doin’ right to sell the farm an’ bring the children to town for school an’ so cial advantages; but with picture shows an’ dancin’— I don’t know.” She cleaned her wrinkled and capa ble hands from the dough and turned to see that the fire and kettle of melt ed lard were Just right. They were. Then with deft, experienced fingers she began to drop twisted bits of dough into the hot lard, which In a few min utes changed them to crisp doughnuts. “Such appetites,” she nodded to her self happily. “Sue an’ Kate an’ May are always Just as hungry as Tom an’ Wip, ^t ^e^ blg Sam who’s grown up an’ steadied down to regular work. Five will rush In from School, an’ Sam later, an’ all will grab up doughnuts. An' how they will eat!” She giggled reminiscently. “I do wish daughter Nett could have lived to see ’em grow up so, even May fourteen, an’ her twin Win almost as big’s his brother. Nell would have done better by ’em, of course, but I’ve done my best.” The outer door was flung open and a rush of many feet crowded Info the hall. Grandma looked up expectantly. But the feet stopped at the parlor door, and a subdued hubbub of voicees arose. Grandma sighed again, and bent lower over her work. “Them flutter- budgets, Rose an’ Jenny, from across ratin’, an* ain’t give a thought to Christmas cornin’. I wish—no, they’re Just high-spirited young folks makln’ ready for a good time. That’s alk”' But in spite of herself there was a shadow on Grandma’s face the rest of the day. She had hoped for a big surprise Christmas dinner, all to themselves, with no Intruders. She mixed and baked until after midnight, then slipped through the side door to her room. She was awakened by a slight step. “W-h-y, Grandma,” reproved the merry voice of Kate. “Nine o’clock l and you’re still in bed. Not 111, are you?" with a sudden note of anxiety. “No,” apologized Grandma—“Just overslept.” "All right. Merry Christmas! And come right into the hall when you’re dressed. You may look now.” Grandma rose hurriedly. She heard the voices, of Rose and Jenny Cady, and even Ed’s. “Not even a family Christmas to gether,” her thought deplored, “And here so early means a lot more Axin’ for the dance. I’d like—for ’em to have a nice time, of course,” the thought finished loyally. “Young folks need pleasure.” As she opened the door to the hall there came low strains of music. Grandma looked startled for a mo ment, then a soft flush of pleased sur prise came to her face. It was a Christmas hymn they had been accus- the way, an’ Tom’s chum, Andy Smith. Plannln r another dance, likely. I won der if any one of ’em remembers to morrow’s Christmas? I do wish the flutter—” Grandma cut off what she wished by closing her lips tightly. Bat only for a minute, then her thoughts went on In a different key. “I won’t be a crosspatch the day before Christ mas,” the moving Ups emphasized the change of thought. “They’re Jtftt bubblin', healthy children, an’ Sam’s already quieted down from a lively boy, an’ the others will In time, an' Rose an’ Jenny an’ Andy are flutter- ers |ust because they can’t hold in. ■“I Wont Be a Crosspatch the Day Be- fore Christmas." The hall door opened softly, and a fuzzy head and snapping eyes ap peared. It was Rose Cady. “What does my nose smell?” she questioned, sniffing. “It tells me I’m hungry. May I come in?” “Of course, dear.” Rose shot in, one hand outstretched. “May IT’ she begged. “AH you can carry," beamed Grand ma. “They’re Just right to eat now, while hot. I wonder why the chil dren—’’ ' The key turned, and a few moment! later tip sound of strained and heavy steps passed through the front door way and Into the parlor. “jpettin 1 ready for a dance, an’ that’s the Smith music box they're bringin’ In. Likely rfiej’re up to a lot o’ de<$>- \ A Christmas Hymn They Had Been Accustomed to Sing. tomed to sing at home when she was a girl, and she had carried it on with her grandchildren. But she never had heard it in music. In her eagerness she stepped to the parlor doorway, which was almost hid den In greenery. Suddenly two pairs of arms were inclosing her neck, and one pair belonged to Rose. Other arms were reaching for her; and be yond, hesitating Sam, who was too big to kiss anybody, lifted his arms. “Why—why, my dears,” murmured Grandma, looking bewildered. ‘Look up," laughed Sue. Grandma did, and there was a huge bunch of mistletoe over the door. “Lead the queen to her throne and ; render homage,” ordered Kate. There was a raised chair decorated with holly and mistlet<»e, near one side of the fireplace. Grandma was con ducted to it deferentially, then the ushers sank to their knees with grave faces but snapping eyes. “Hall to the queen of love and the kitchen,” they chanted, and Jenny added, ’’including crisp doughnuts.” “Oh, my dears—my dears,” softly. “Now for the distribution of pres ents.” cried May. springing up. Grandma had noticed rotund stock ings along the fireplace, with an extra large one near her end. and sundry packages on the floor underneath. The big stocking was laid on her lap, and packages began to follow. She recognized things she had wished, and books she had mentioned a desire to read. For Grandma, in spite of her perfect housekeeping, loved to read. ■ “I—I thought it was for a dtince,” she faltered, her hands caressing the gifts. “O-o-oh, Grandma !” The idea ! On this day! It’s for all of us, but most ly you.” Rose and Jenny were dancing about, as pleased ns any of the family. Grandma’s tremulous hands reached out and drew them close. “You must stay with us all day, dears,” she urged happily—“and Bill too. There’s plenty an’ to spare cooked. Christmas has begun so won derful that you moat help ns carry It •through.” ‘ There Is no laughter of a little child. No fiery paaaion of Youth’s rosy morning, No treasura-houae of Age, benign and tnlld. That la not sweater for the Christ’s adorning At Christmas. Thera la no depth of love, no pang of eorroW^ No mighty moving In the human heart. No comfort for today, hope for to morrow, In which the Christ haa not a larger part At Chrlatmaa So, as we send our greeting of affection, -We-tahaca—thA. memory.pf Him Who came? In fellowship, in happy recollection, ; Each fervent wish la haliowatL ln Hla name ' At Chrlatmaa For Mother’s Christmas 1 vsn? By ETHEL COOK ELIOT (©, 1914, Weetern Newspaper Union.) for OIN G home Christmas?" “Yes. AH of us always go. Great fun seeing each other again and exchanging news 1 We go back to the farm.” “Yours mast be quite a family now, with all the children. But I suppose your mother gets In extra help, and you all help, too.” It was not Impertinent, because it was my best friend speaking. She is Just frank and sincere. She had dropped into my ofllce after hours, not to buy insurance from me (yes, I am a female insurance agent and not a failure at It either!) but to say “good- by” before herself leaving the city for the holidays. “No, there’s no extra help to be gotten these days in the country any more than here. Not any that’s worth while. So mother does it all herself. But she likes It. ChVlstmas only comes once a year.” We said no more about that, but after my friend had gone I remem bered her clear, frank eyes and the way they had received my reply. They had been slightly skeptical. I couldn’t get that skepticism out of my mind. The result was that, after much thought, I suddenly closed office a whole week before Christmas, prac tically kidnaped my youngest sister away from her home In a nearby city—that comfortable home with Its full nursery, cook and nurse girl—and whisked her away to the country to give mother a little surprise. At first I thought the surprise was to turn out an unpleasant one. We arrived In the early afternoon with out warning. There was mother In g huge apron, her hair tied up in a towel, the front hall full of brooms and mops, housecleaning. She could not conceal her chagrin from us, we had so suddenly appeared. It certain ly Was different from our customary homecoming. Then, she met ns at the We Arrived In the Early Afternoon Without Warning. front door, her arm linked In father’s, dressed’ In her best silk, her white hair freshly curled, behind them the house shining in spotlessness. And then the pantry filled with pics, cakes, roast ham with its cloves, and moth er’s wonderful Jelly tarts! Such an inviting, homelike, hospitable house! Such a sparkllngly clean pantry full jf good things! How different today, six days before we were expected 1 Father had ban- j ished himself to the barn, and we fonnd him disconsolately smoking by old Jim’s stall. The bouse was chaos. All the ragu seemed to be up and the furniture out of place. Mother was cleaning! “Oh, dear!” she greeted ns. «T dlffo’t expect you till Christmas Eve) i \ . £ 1 . Sat. Morniig December 13th Kennedy’s OF LADIES’ READY-TO-WEAR Dry Goods, Hosiery, Novelties and Other Merchandise Going out of business. All goods sold below st and must go regardless of price. Nothing eld Back. No Returns. Fixtures and Lease for Sale. Doors Closed Now for Marking Down Goods DOORS OPEN Saturday Morning At 10 O’clock KENNEDY'S LAURENS, S. C. Next To Laurens Hotel B. M. WOLFF, Agent - C . HUH . 1 -- ^ *