University of South Carolina Libraries
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1948 THE NEWBERRY SUN A (Elfriatmaa flrayar AH, DEAREST JESUS, HOLY CHILD MAKE THEE A BED, SOFT, UNDEFILED, WITHIN MY HEART, THAT IT MAY BE A QUIET CHAMBER KEPT FOR THEE. MY HEART FOR VERY JOY DOTH LEAP MY LIPS NO MORE CAN SILENCE KEEP, I TOO MUST SING, WITH JOYFUL TONGUE THAT SWEETEST ANCIENT CRADLE SONG, GLORY TO GOD IN HIGHEST HEAVEN* WHO UNTO MAN HIS SON HATH GIVEN. WHILE ANGELS SING, WITH PIOUS MIRTH, —GLAD NEW YEAR TO ALL THE EARTH! Someone at Christmas By Carle Freeman A TREE FOR DENNY by William Tremon The little gift shop was crowded when Nancy entered it, but almost immediately she noticed Larry Bryant. She sensed the usual disturbance at sight of him, and recalling the trend of her thoughts for the past several minutes brought a flush of warmth to her cheeks. She’d been tninking, somewhat resentlully, as she went along tn e busy streets of the little town, how unfair it was that Christmas had come before she could get acquainted with someone in Davenshire— Larry Bryant for instance, de partmental head at the electric plant where she worked. Christmas wasn’t Christmas un less it could be shared with someone. And now Larry was stand ing at the dish counter decid ing about a pair of little green | rabbit salt and pepper shakers. It didn’t matter particularly that he’d buy the shakers— aside from the significance of such an act—but she’d had her own heart set on them more or less for aweek. Larry had been in the shop every after noon that she’d been there, but this was his first time at the dish counter. The little shak ers were as good as gone. The other day when she’d looked at them, the sales girl had said, "Better buy them. These are the last ones, and they are a bargain at eight dollars. They came all the way from Sweden.” “I know—” Nancy had said, but she had thought they’d be an extravagance and look out of place on the little table in her corner kitchenette at Lil Ransom’s old rooming house. Then there’d be no one to ad mire them—only herself. "They might be gone the next time you come,” the girl had said when Nancy left the counter. But they’d be ther e the next time Nancy went back to the little gift shop. Every after- noon for a week they’d been there, as if awaiting for her to make up her mind to buy them. Nancy held her breath as sh e watched Larry from a dis tance. For now she knew that if he didn’t take the shakers, she’d buy them herself. But even as Nancy watched she saw him hand the shakers to a clerk. • She tried to push her disap pointment aside and select an inexpensive little gift for one of her co-workers at the plant. Tomorrow was Cnristmas Eve and the employees and officials of the plant had drawn names as part of a gift-giving pro gram they’d planned to have about the huge, gayly decorat ed tree in the arched entrance. Nancy dreaded the occasion, more so now than before. She regretted the day she’d left her home to take a better job in Davenshire. Why hadn’t she waited until after Christmas to make the change! When the time came the next day for the program, Nancy took the gift that was handed to her and slipped from the crowd. She wouldn’t be miss ed, she thought, as she hurried from the building. Snow fell softly about her in a genuine burst from the dark sky, and the ring of voices from the plant followed her in a kind of haunting, sad beauty. Inside her apartment she looked down at the gayly wrap ped package in her hands through a blur of tears. It was the only gift she’d re ceived, and it had been given only because comeone had drawn her name. She unwrapped the package, and suddenly the blur cleared to reveal the little green rab bit salt and pepper shakers with the long, saucy ears—one up and one limping down pro-' vocatively. Her heart thrummed in her throat. Larry had drawn her name. But the cost of the gifts they were to exchange was not to go over twenty- five cents! Lil Ransom called up the stairs. “You’re wanted on the phone, and ’tis a man.” Nancy placed the little shak ers carefully on the table and turned to the door. The hum of “Silent Night” came from Lil Ransom’s radio up the sweep of stairs, and Nancy found herself singing the words softly as she dashed down them, for she knew even be fore she heard his voice who w’as waiting for her on the telephone. WANTED — Scrap iron, brass. copper, lead, zinc, aluminum pewter, old batteries, radiators, all kinds of rags, old waste cot ton, mattress cotton. We also have a nice line of groceries. W. H. STERLING, VINCENT ST. Every day for a week old Oliver had been passing their house in his wagon loaded with pine and cedar trees. “Christmas trees cheap!” he shouted. “Christmas tr-e-e* - two dollars. On-l-y-y two dol lars. . . .’’ He was passing now, ayi Marge, washing the few dishes she and Denny had soiled at their noonday meal, wished she couldn’t hear th e sound of his shouting voice. Joe always bought old Oli ver’s trees. “Old Oliver needs the money,” he’d say. “And our old car just wouldn’t take the bumps of a hunt for a tree in the country around her.” Old Oliver hesitiated in front of the little house, repeating his chant until Marge thought she must go to the door and tell him to stop. She and Joe had explained to him the first time they'd bought a tree just the kind they liked. It had to be so tall and so big around. It had to be cedar with clusters of blue berries on it. Old Oli- j ver always had the kind of j tree they wanted, i Little Denny ran into the i kitchen from the front room. “Mommy, there’s oT Oliver,” he said. “Mommy, he has our tree . . . Marge dried her hands and" knelt to gather little Denny in her arms. “I know he has, dear,” she said, making herself look at him. Since last January when the horrible car accident had taken Joe away from her, she’d had difficulty in looking at Denny. Denny had Joe’s rum pled dark hair, his dark eyes, the deep cleft in his chin. A sob caught in Marge’s throat. “Denny, dear,” she said thickly, “we’re not going to have a tree this Christmas. Daddy isn’t here to help decorate it, and besides—Santa will come' with out a Christmas tree.” “I’ll help decorate it,” Denny said. “I did last year.” Marge pressed Denny close. “I know dear—” she said. Poig nant memories of last Christ mas crowded her so that she couldn’t talk for a moment. She could see that she couldn’t talk for a moment. She could see Joe teetering on the lad der to put the star top of the tree. “I can help, Mtommy. . . .” Denny insisted. “You could, dear, but we don’t want a tree with Daddy gone. Someday, dear—oh; I hope it never comes to you— you’ll understand why Mom my didn’t want a Christmas tree!” She rose to her feet hurriedly feeling a rush of tears. “I’ll get your wraps, Denny, and you can play out side in the snow for awhile.” Shadows lengthened in the Ititle house before it came to Marge with frightening reali zation that it had been all of three hours since Denny’d left the house. “Denny—DENNY!” She ran out on the porch and down the steps, her slim unprotected feet and legs sinking into the deep snow that had banked there. “DENNY'” Th e echo of her voice came back to her in mocking horror across the white stillness of the little yard. A cold wind swept against her as she stood at the gate looking up and down the street and calling Denny’s name: It was a horrible moment, one in which she knew she must have aged 20 years and one in which she saw in heart-wrenching clarity her unfairness to Denny in harboring a self-centered grief over her loss of Joe to the extent of his safety, his protection, his happiness. A familiar wagon made the turn at the end of the street, and Marge recognized old Oli ver and his load of Christmas trees. His chant rang out again, “Buy your Christmas tree now! On-l-y two dollars.” Marge shrieked against the wind, “Oh, don’t—please don’t’ Then she saw Denny—little Brown garbed Denny sitting up in the seat by old Oliver. The wagon stopped at the gate, and old Oliver grinned as Denny climbed down into Marge’s reaching arms. “He likka th’ #ide. He . . Marge didn’t give him a chance to talk. “Do you have our tree, Oliver?”' she asked. Old Oliver chuckled and jumped down from the wagon. “All’a week I’ve had your tree,” he said. “Just put it in the yard, Marge told him. “Why Denny and I couldn’t do without oui* tree!” Science Professor: “What al ways happens when a body is immersed in water?” Co-ed: “The phone rings. V k\ X £ iK lit!' ;.; ' |: -iVr.\ }\i*l ms&&i ■ihU GOOD FRIEH. -.'J.-' ■‘■■'Mm ilZfrXW •Vv-.v m & m. •ISlRfe . >.. i . . . to Skcme Oun CknlAtmaA % >?■ As you place a glistening holly wreath upon your door, ^gaily decorate your Christmas tree, hang up your sock on the mantel and fotlow the scores of other traditions of a —*•••*■*. genuinely happy Christmas, we want to share your good for- tune. You are our friends and we are happy in the knowl- edge that you are happy. May the Yuletide bring you joy. C.D.COLEMAN COMPANY 1302 COLLEGE STREET * TELEPHONE 400 N EV* B ER RY , SOUTH CAROLINA