The sun. [volume] (Newberry, S.C.) 1937-1972, December 24, 1948, Image 13
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.
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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