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Wausau pilot. (Wausau, Wis.) 1896-1940, December 25, 1917, Image 7

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An Interesting and Intimate View of Pioneer Days
on the Plains „ w
Copyright, Little. Brow* * Cos.) t By £>. M . BOWER.
(Copyright, Little. Browa A CO.)
Synopsis.—Marthy and Jase Meilke, pioneers, have for twenty
years made a bare living out of their ranch at the Cove on Wolverine
creek in the mountain range country of Idaho. Their neighbors, the
MacDonalds, living several miles away, have a daughter, Billy Louise,
now about nineteen years old, whom Marthy has secretly helped to
educate. At the time the story opens Billy Louise is spending the
afternoon with Marthy. A snowstorm comes up, and on her way home
the girl meets an interesting stranger, who is Invited to stay over
night at the MacDonald ranch.
CHAPTER ll—Continued.
— 2—
“Then the chores aren’t done, I sup
pose.' Billy Louise went over and
took a lantern down from its nail,
turning up the wick so that she could
.llgnt it with the candle. “Go up to
the fire and thaw out,” she invited the
man. “We’ll have supper in a few
Instead he reached out and took the
lantern from her as soon as she had
lighted It. “You go to the fire your
self,” he said. “I’ll do what’s neces
sary outside.”
“Why-y”— Billy Louise, her fingers
still clinging to the lantern, looked up
at him. He was staring down at her
with that intent look she had objected
to on the trail, but she saw his mouth
and the little smile that hid just back
of his lips. She smiled back without
knowing It. “I’ll have to go along,
anyway. There are cows to milk, and
you couldn’t very well find the cow
stable alone.”
“Think not?”
Together they went out again into
the storm they had left so eagerly.
Billy Louise showed him where was
the pitchfork and the hay and then
did the milking while he piled full the
mangers. After that they went to
gether and turned the shivering work
horses into the stable from the corral
where they huddled, rumps to the
storm, and the inan lifted great fork
fuls of hay and carried it into their
stalls, while Billy Louise held the lan
tern high over her head like a western
Liberty. They did not talk much, ex
cept when there was need for speech,
but they were beginning to feel a lit
tle glow of companionship by the time
they were ready to fight their way
against the blizzard to the house, Billy
Louise going before with the lantern,
while the man followed close behind,
carrying the two pails of milk that
was already freezing in little crystals
to the tin.
“I didn’t quite catch your name, mis
ter,” Mrs. MacDonald said after they
had begun the meal. “But take an
other biscuit, anyway.”
“Warren is my name,” returned the
man, with that hidden smile because
she dad never before given him any
opportunity to tell it—“ Ward Warren.
I’ve got a claim over on Mill creek.”
Biliy Louise gave a little gasp and
distractedly poured two spoonfuls of
sugar in hei tea, although she hated it
I’ve got to tell you why even at the
price of digression. Long ago, when
Billy Louise was twelve or so and
lived largely in a dream world of her
own, she had one day chanced upon a
paragraph in a paper that had come
from town wrapped around a package
of matches. It was all about Ward
V'arren. The name caught her fancy,
and the text of the paragraph seized
upon her imagination. Until school
tilled her mind with other things she
had built adventures without end in
which Ward Warren was the central
figure. Sometimes, when she rode in
the hills. Ward Warren abducted her
and led her into strange places, w'here
she tried to shiver in honest dread.
Cften and often, however, Ward War
ren was a fugitive who came to her
for help. Then she would take him to
a cave and hide him. perhaps, or she
would mount her horse and lead him
by devious ways to safety, and upon
some hilltop from which she could
point out the route he must follow she
would bid him a touching adieu and
beseech him in the impossible lan
guage of some old romancer to go and
lead a blameless life.
“Jase has got all gone feelings now,
tnommie.” Billy Louise remarked irrel
evantly during a brief pause and re
lapsed into silence again. She knew
that was good for at least five minutes
of straight monologue with her mother
in that talking mood. She finished her
supper while Warren listened abstract
edly to a complete biography of the
Mollkes and ’earned all about Marthy’s
energy and Jnse’s shiftlessness.
"Ward Warren!" Billy Louis® was
saying to herself. "Ward Warren!
There couldn't possibly be two Ward
Warrens; it’s such an odd name.
Then she went mentally over that
paragraph. She wished she did not
remember every single word of it, but
she did. And she was afraid to look
at him after that, and she wanted to
dreadfully. She felt as though he be
longed to her. Why. he was her old
playmate! And she had saved his life
hundreds of times at immense risk to
hers, and he had always been her de
voted slave afterward and never failed
to appear at the precise moment when
she was beset by Indians or robbers
or something and in dire need. The
blood he had shed in her behalf! At
that point Billy lionise startled her
self and the others by suddenly laugh
ing out loud at the memory of one
time when Ward Warren had killed
enough Indians to fill a deep washout
so that he might carry her across to
the other side!
“is there anything funny about Jase
Meilke dying, Billy Louise?" her moth
er aked her In a perfectly shocked
“No. 1 was thinking, of something
else.” She glanced at the man eying
her so distrustfully from across the ta
ble and gurgled again. It was terribly
silly, but she simply conld not help
seeing Ward Warren calmly filling that
washout with dead Indians so that he
might carry her across it in his arms.
The more she tried to forget that the
funnier it became. She ended by leav
ing the table and retiring precipitately
to her own tiny room in the lean-to
where she buried her face as deep as
it would go in a puffy pillow of wild
duck feathers.
He poor devil, could not be expected
to know just what had amused her
so. He did know chat it somehow Con
or ed himself, however. He took up
.is position mentally behind the wall
of aloofness which stood between him
self and an unfriendly world, and when
Billy Louise came out later to help
with the dishes be was sitting ab
sorbed in a book.
The next morning the blizzard raged,
so that Warren stayed as a matter of
course. Peter Howling Dog bad not
returned, so Warren did the chores
and would not let Billy Louise help
with anything.
“I wish we could get him to stay
all winter instead of that Peter Howl
ing Dog,” Mrs. MacDonald said anx
iously after he had gone out. “I just
know Peter’s off drinking. I don’t
think he’s a safe man to have around,
Billy Louise. I didn’t when you hired
him. I haven’t felt easy a minute
with him on the place. I wish you’d
hire Mr. Warren, Billy Louise. He’s
nice and quiet”—
“And he's got a ranch of his own.
He doesn’t strike me as a man who
wants a job milking two cows and
carrying slop to the pigs, mommie.”
“Well, I’d feel a lot easier if we had
him instead of that breed. Only we
ain’t even got the breed half the time.
This is the third time he’s disappeared
in the two months we’ve had him. 1
really think you ought to speak to Mr
Warren, Billy Louise.”
“Speak to him yourself. You’re the
one that wants him,” Billy Louise an
swered somewhat sharply. She adored
her mother, but if she had to run the
ranch she did wish her njother would
not interfere and give advice just at
the wrong time.
“Well, you needn’t be cross about it
You know yourself that Peter can’t be
depended on a minute. There he went
off yesterday and never fed the pigs
their noon slop, and I had to carry it
out myself. And my lumbago has
bothered me ever since, just like it
was going to give me another spell.
You can’t be here all the time, Billy
Louise leastways you ain’t —and
“Oh, good gracious, mommie! I told
you to hire the man if you want him.
Only Ward Warren isn’t”—
Ward Warren pushed open the door
and looked from one to the other, his
eyes two question marks. “Isn’t
whatY” he asked and shut the door
behind him with the air of one who is
ready for anything.
“Isn’t the kind of man who wants to
hire out to do chores,” Billy Louise
finished and looked at him straight.
"Are you? Mommie wants to hire
“Oh, well, I was just about to ask
for the job, anyway.” He laughed,
and the distrust left his eyes. “Asa
matter of fact. I was going over to
Jim Larson’s to hang out for the rest
of the winter and get away from the
lonesomeness of the hills The old
Turk’s a pretty good friend of mine.
But it looks to me as if you two need
ed something around that looks like a
a man a heap more than Jim does. I
know Peter Howling Dog to a fare
you-well. You’ll be all to the good if
he forgets *© come back. So if you’ll
stake me to a meal now and then and
a place to sleep I’ll be glad to see you
through the winter or until you get
some white man to take my place.”
He took up the two water pails and
waited, glancing from one to the other
with that repressed smile which Billy
Louise was beginning to look for in
his face.
Now that matters had approached
the point of decision her mother stood
looking at her helplessly, waiting for
her to speak. Billy Louise drew her
self up primly and ended by contra
’'' ''V
1 -
The Whistling Broke and He Began
to Sing.
dieting the action. She gave him a
sidelong glance which he was least
prepared to withstand, though, in jus
tice to Billy Louise, she was absolute
ly unconscious of its general effective
ness and twisted her lips whimsically.
“We’ll stake yon to a book, a ban
3ock and a bed if you want to stay,
Ir. Warren.” she said quite soberly;
"also to a pitchfork and an ax. If you
like, and regular wages."
His eyes went to her and steadied
there with the intent expression in
them. ‘Thanks. Cut out the wages
and I’ll take the offer just as it
stands " be told ner and pulled his hat
farther down on his head. “She’s go
ing to be one stormy night, lay-dees,”
he added in quite another tone on his
way to the door. “Five o’clock by the
town clock, and al-ll's well!” This
last in still another tone as be pushed
out against the swooping wind and
pulled the door shut with a slam.
They heard him whistling a shrill, rol
licking air on his way to the creek—
at least it sounded rollicking the way
he whistled it.”
‘That’s ‘The Old Chisholm Trail’ he’s
whistling,” Billy Louise observed un
der her breath, smiling reminiscently,
“the very song I used to pretend he
always sang when he came down the
canyon to rescue me. But of course I
knew all the time he’e a cowboy. It
said so” —
The whistling broke, and he began
to sing at the top of a clear, strong
lunged voice an old, old trail song
beloved of punchers the West over.
“What did you say, Billy Louise?
I’m sure it’s a comfort to have him
here, and you see be was glad and
But Billy Louise was holding the
door open half an inch, listening and
slipping back into the child world
wherein Ward Warren came singing
down the canyon to rescue her. The
words came gustily from the creek
down the slope:
“No chaps, no slicker, and a-pourln’ down
And I swear by the Lord I’ll never night
herd again,
Coma to yl youpy, youpy-a. youpy-a.
Coma to yi youpy, youpy-a 1
“Feet in the stirrups and seat in the
I hung and rattled with them long-horn
Coma to yl”—
“Do shut the door, Billy Louisel
What you want to stand there like
that for? And the wind freezing ev
erything inside! I can feel a terrible
draft on my feet and ankles, and you
know what that leads to!”
So Billy Louise closed the door and
laid another alder root on the coals in
the fireplace the while her mind was
given over to dreamy speculations, and
the words of that old trail song ran on
in her memory, though she could no
longer hear him singing. Her mother
talked on about Peter and the storm
and this man who had ridden straight
from the land of day dreams to her
door, but the girl was not listening.
“Now, ain’t you relieved yourself
that he’s going to stay?”
Billy Louise, kneeling on the hearth
and staring abstractedly into the fire,
came back with a jerk to reality. The
little smile that had been in her eyes
and on her lips fled back with the
dreams that had brought It. She gave
her shoulders an impatient twitch and
got up.
“Oh, I guess he’ll be more agreeable
to have around than Peter,” she ad
mitted taciturnly, which was as close
to her real opinion of the man as a
mere mother might hope to come.
When spring came at last and Ward
Warren rode regretfully baca to his
claim on Mill creek he was not at all
the morose Ward Warren who had
ridden down to the Wolverine that
stormy night in January. The distrust
had left his eyes, and that guarded re
moteness was gone from his manner.
He thought and he planned as other
men thought and planned and looked
into the future eagerly ana dreamed
dreams of his own, dreams that brought
the hidden smile often to his lips and
his eyes.
Still, the thing those dreams were
built upon was yet locked tight in his
heart, and not even Billy Louise, whose
instinct was so keen and so sure in all
things else, knew anything of them or
of the bright hued hope they were built
Marthy Buries Her Dead and Great*
Her Nephew.
JASE did not move or give his cus
tomary, querulous grunt when Mar
thy nudged him at daylight, one
morning In mid April. Marthy gave an
other poke with her elbow and lay still,
numbed by a sudden dread. She moved
cautiously out of the bed and half
across the cramped room before she
turned her head toward him. Then she
stood still and looked and looked, her
hard face growing each moment more
pinched and stony and gray.
Jase had died while the coyotes were
yapping their dawn song up on the rim
of the cove. He lay rigid under the
coarse, gray blanket, the flesh of his
face u>awn close to the bones, his
skimpy, gray beard tilted upward.
Marthy’s jaw set into a harsher out
line than ever. She dressed with slow,
heavy movements and went out and fed
the stock. In stolid calm she did the
milking and turned out the cows into
the pasture. She gathered an apron
full of chips and started a fire, just as
she had done every morning for twenty
nine years, and she put the coffeepot
on the greasy stove and boiled the brew
of yesterday, which was also her habit.
She sat for some time with her head
leaning upon her grimy hand and stared
unseeingly out upon a peach tree in
full bloom and at a pair of busy robins
who had chosen a convenient crotch for
their nest. Finally she rose stiffly, as
if she had grown older within the last
hour, and went outside to the place
where she had been mending the irri
gating ditch the day before. She knock
ed the wet sand off the shovel she had
left sticking in the soft bank and went
out of the yard and up the slope toward
the rock wall.
On a tiny, level place above the main
ditch and just under the wall Marthy
began to dig. setting her broad, flat foot
uncompromisingly upon the shoulder of
the shovel and sending it deep into the
yellow soil. She worked slowly and
methodically and steadily, just as she
did everything else. When she had dug
down as deep as she could and still
manage to climb out and had the hole
wide enough and long enough, she got
awkwardly to the grassy surface and
sat for a long while upon a rock, star
ing lumbly at the gaunt, brown hills
across the river.
She returned to the cabin t last, and,
with the manner of one who dreads do
ing what must be done, she went in
where Jase lay stiff and cold under the
Early that afternoon Marthy went
staggering up the slope, wheeling Jase's
body before her on the creaky, home
made wheelbarrow. In the same harsh,
primitive manner in which they both
and lived Marthy buried her dead. And
though in life she had given him few
words save in command or upbraiding,
with never a hint of ’ove to sweeten the
days for either, yet she went whimper
ing away from that grave. She broke
off three branches of precious peach
blossoms and carried them up the slope.
She stuck them upright in the lumpy
soil over J&se’s head and stood there
# long while with tear streaked face,
staring down at the grave and at the
nodding pink blossoms.

Billy Louise rode singing down the
rocky trail through the deep, narrow
gorge to where the hawthorn and choke
cherries hid the opening to the cove.
From there to the pink drift of peach
bloom against the dull brown of the
bluff Blue galloped angrily, leaving
deep, black printa in the soft green of
the meadow. So they came headlong
upon Marthy, just as she was knocking
the yellow clay of the grave from her
irrigating shovel against the pole fence
of her pigpen.
“Why, Marthy!” Once before fn her
life Billy Louise had seen Marthy’s chin
quivering like that and big, slow tears
sliding down the network of lines on
Marthy’s leathery cheeks. With a
painful slump her spirits went heavy
with her sympathy. “Marthy !”
She knew without a word of expla
nation just what had happened. From
Marthy’s bent shoulders she knew and
from her tear stained face and from
the yellow soil clinging still to the
shovel in her hand. The wide eyes of
Billy Louise sent seeking glances up
the slope where the soil was yellow;
went to the long, raw ridge under the
wall, with the peach blossoms standing
pitifully awry upon the western end.
Her eyes filled with tears. “Ob, Mar
thy ! When was it?”
“In the night, some time, I guess.”
Marthy’s voice had a harsh huskiness.
“He was—gone —when I woke up. Well
—he’s better off than I be. I dunno
what woulda become of him if I’d went
first.” There, at last, was a note of
tenderness, stifled though it was and
fleeting. “Git down, Billy Louise, and
come in. I been kinda lookin' for yuh
to come ever sence the weather opened
up. How’s your maw?”
“What are you going to do now, Mar
thy?” Billy Louise was perfectly capa
ble of opening a conversational door
even when it had been closed decisively
in her face. “You can’t get on here
alone, you know. Did you send for that
nephew? If you haven’t you must hire
somebody till —”
“He’s cornin’. That letter you sent
over last month was from him. I dunno
when he’ll git here; he’s liable to come
most any time. I ain’t going to hire
nobody. Charlie Fox, his name is. I
hope he turns out a good worker. I’ve
never had a chance to git ahead any,
but if Charlie ’ll jest take holt I’ll meb
by git some comfort outa life yit.”
“He ought to, I’m sure. And every
one thinks you’ve done awfully well,
Marthy. What can I do now? Wash
the dishes and straighten things up, I
“You needn’t do nothin’ you ain’t a
mind to do, Billy Louise. I don’t want
you to think you got to slop around
washin’ my dirty dishes. I’m goin’ on
down into the medder and work on a
ditch I’m puttin’ in. You jest do what
you’ve a mind to.” She picked up the
shovel and went off down the jungly
path, herself the ugliest object in the
cove, where she bad created so much
Billy Louise sat down on the rock
where Marthy had rested after digging
the grave and, with her chin in her two
cupped palms, stared out across the
river at the heaped bluffs und down at
the pink and white patch of fruit trees.
Some of Purest Metal in the World Is
Found Here, Although in Small
“It must be admitted that the Eng
lish have not been very generous,” re
marked Napoleon as he surveyed his
kingdom of Elba from the top of its
highest peak. Yet a man more modest
than the great Corsican might have
been well content with this fair and
rich little island, to say nothing of the
title of king.
Elba today has come into anew im
portance, owing to the war stimulated
values of its iron mines. Some of the
purest iron ore in the world is found
here in beautiful crystals, although
the quantity is not great enough to be
of any wide significance.
The little isle includes all manner of
little industries in its 10 by 12 mile
confines. On the lower slopes there
are fertile little valleys, and along the
beach a tiny fishing industiy manages
to thrive. Besides the ! ron mines
there are famous stone quarries, and
the scenery is rugged and imposing on
a miniature scale. Had Napolecn been
a philosopher he might well have
found contentment here.
But Napoleon was a general and a
builder; instead of settling down to en
joy what the gods had left him. he in
stituted all manner of projects for de
velopment in his tiny kingdom, and
even conducted from here his least
known campaign. Across the blue wa
ters to the south of Elba is visible
the smaller island of Pianosa, low and
fertile. Pianosa was deserted in those
times on account of the depredations
of Mediterranean pirates. Napoleon
directed an expedition of 40 men
against the corsairs with the object of
adding Pianosa to his kingdom. He
probably would have led the pirates a
hard life had not the opportunity for
escape presented Itself that led to
France and Waterloo.
A Caddy Story.
The gentleman was learning to play
golf and it had been too much for the
composure of his caddy. The caddy
had made valiant efforts at first, but
by the third hole he was helpless with
mirth. The gentleman fixed him with
a cold eye and said:
“What do you think Fll give you on
your card If you are so silly and gig
gle all the time? Do you think you'll
got a ‘good’ ?”
“No.” replied the chortling caddy.
•Til get a V. G.”
‘V. G.! I suppose that stands for
very good.” snapped the infuriated gen
“No, sir. Y. G.. very giggly.” said
The abandoned little caddy, rolling on
the ground.
Many Millionaires Were Poor.
An authority on finance has been In
vestigating American millionaires, and
finds that all except twenty startej
Ufe as poor bova.
She was trying, as the young will al
ways try, to solve the riddle of life, and
she was baffled and unhappy because
she could not find any answer at all
that pleased both her ideals and her
reason. And then she heard a man’s
voice lifted up in riotous song and she
turned her head toward the opening of
the gorge aud listened, her eyes bright
ening while she waited.
Ward came into sight through the lit
tle meadow, riding slowly, with bofah
bands clasped over the horn of the sad
dle, bis hat tilted back on his head and
b'! whole attitude one of absolute con
tent with life. He saw Billy Louise
almost as soon as she glimpsed him,
tind she bad been watching that bit of
road quite closely. He flipped the reins
to one side and turned from the trail to
ride straight up the slope to where she
Billy Louise, with a self reproachful
glance at the grave, ran down file slope
to meet him—an unexpected welcome,
which made Ward’s heart leap in his
"Oh, Ward, for heaven's sake, don’t
be singing that come-all-ye at the top
of your voice, like that. Don’t you”—
“Now I was given to understand that
you liked , that same come-all-ye. Have
you been educating your musical taste
in the last week, Miss William Louise?”
Ward stopped his horse before her and
with his hands still clasped over the
saddle horn looked down at her with
that bidden smile—and something else.
“No, I haven’t. I don't have to edu
cate myself to the point where I know
the ‘Chisholm Trail’ isn’t a proper kind
of funeral hymn, Ward Warren.” Billy
Louise glanced over her shoulder and
lowered her voice instinctively, as we
all do when death has come close and
stopped. “Jase died last night; that’s
his grave up there. Isn’t it perfectly
pitiful? Poor old Marthy was here all
She Sat Down on the Rock Where
Marthy Had Rested.
solitary alone with him. And—Ward,
she dug that grave her ownself and
took him up and buried him! And,
Ward, she—she wheeled him up in the
—wheelbarrow ! She had to, of course.
She couldn’t carry him. But isn’t it
awful?” Her hands were up, patting
and smoothing the neck of his horse,
and her face was bent to hide the tears
that stood in her eyes and the quiver
, of her mouth.
Several minutes they stood there
talking, while Billy Louise patted the
horse absently, aud Ward looked down
at her aud did uot miss one little light
or shadow in her face.
Charlie Fox arrives on the
scene and helps Marthy run the
place after the death of Jase.
Along comes a mystery.
Recent “Maulud” Held in Department
of Mindanao and Sulu Was Evi
dence of Existing Harmony.
Commenting on the prevalent belief
that the islands need a speed national
ization of the different sections and a
rooting out of sectional and tribal feel
ing, the Philippine Review' says edi
torially :
“While as a matter of fact we have
to acknowledge that sectional feeling
seemingly exists in the islands, its ex
istence is not of basic character. For
the elements of unity are in actual ex
istence, and sectional feeling will only
seemingly last while no actual inter
course between the sectional groups
of the islands takes place. It is, there
fore, but a matter of common educa
tion or educational intercourse, not
real lack of spirit of nationality; and
with the present government efforts to
provide the people with good popular
education, this so-called lack of na
tional spirit will shortly be overcome.”
Perhqps no better evidence of the
harmony existing among different
tribes and factions could be offered
the skeptic than the recent “Maulud”
held in the department of Mindanao
and Sulu. The Maulud corresponds
to the Christian Christmas, being the
celebration of the birth of Mohammed.
It consists in ceremonies lasting two
days during w hieh there is much feast
ing and chanting by “imams” (priests)
and lady singers.
The last Maulud was celebrated at
the residence of the governor of Sulu.
All the chiefs and every other Mo
hammedan of prominence. 100 imams,
30 lady singers, 3.000 Mohammedans,
the government officials, and all the
civilians of any distinction attended
the monster feast. Mohammedans and
Christians, Americans and Filipinos,
dressed in beautiful Moro costumes,
forgot their religious, social and po
litical differences, and threw them
selves heart and soul into the cele
bration of this greatest of Mohamme
dan fiestas. No one could have wit
nessed the scene without being con- j
vinced of the oneness of the Moham
median and Christian Filipinos, and I
the hearty good feeling between Amer-1
icans and Filipinos.
Of Small Account.
“Over 2,000,000 iron crosses hav'
been given out by the German author-'
lties.” We doubt if the German sol-'
diers place any great value on these!
crosses. We recall a good-natured old i
German who spent the declining years!
of his life in Toledo. One day. with;
due mod-sty. he showed an iron cross :
he had won in the Franco-Prusslan'
war. “You may have It.” he said
quietly. “It means nothing to me.”—
Toledo Blade.
In order that their soldiers boys
may have a plentiful supply of clga-;
rettes. thousands of women in Franc*
have giver nn smoking.
“It was the night before Christ
mas,” said Daddy, “and little Annette
hud put a note by the fireplace for
Santa Claus and hung up her stock
ing, and then had gone off to bed.
“She did not believe she would be
able to sleep at all, for the night be
fore Christmas was such a very excit
ing night—quite the most exciting lo
the whole year. None of the other
three hundred and sixty-four nights
were anything compared to Christmas
“She stayed very still in bed and
she really did try quite hard to go to
sleep. Of course she would have been
very happy if she had stayed awake
and seen Sauta Claus when he ar
“But when her mother had told her
that Santa Claus was on the look-out
for little open eyes and that he did
not like to be seen while he was do
ing his work. He wanted to hurry
and he wanted too, to surprise the
children when they awoke in the morn
ing. If they saw everything that was
happening their fun would not be
nearly so great.
“So Annette really closed her eyes
and yet she felt so very wide awake.
Somehow she just couldn’t help it. It
seemed as though a very long time
went by and at last Annette heard
strange sounds on the roof.
“ ‘Ah,’ she said to herself delighted
ly, ‘I am sure I hear Santa Claus and
the reindeer. I am sure he must be
coming down my chimney now.
“More sounds on the roof and then
the sounds were heard nearer and
nearer. Now Annette’s stocking was
She Saw Him Turn His Back.
hung in the nursery by the fireplace
and she wondered if she would not be
able to see everything.
“Oh, this was wonderful and she
wondered if she could keep her eyes
close and still see! Yes, she thought
her eyes must be closed. She wasn’t
fiuite sure, but no matter, she was
going to have the most thrilling time.
She was going to watch Santa Claus
at work.
“At last there was a terrific noise
in the chimney and soon she saw
Santa Claus! There he was, just like
his pictures, so wonderfully jolly and
merry and gay! She wasn’t in the
least scrap disappointed. No, he w r as
far more perfect even than his pic
tures. His beard was so white, his
cheeks so red and his eyes so twink
“And his smile! The most wonder
ful smile she had ever seen in all her
life. She wondered if the worst cross
patch in the world could have kept
from smiling if that smile had been
seen. She felt herself all smiles. But
she must keep very quiet!
“Santa Claus was talking to him
self, but Annette didn’t hear him. ‘So
the Dream King is playing a joke on
me, eh?’ he chuckled. And the Dream
King said, ‘Never mind, Annette, this
is really Santa Claus!’
“Annette didn’t know quite why she
had heard someone telling her such a
thing, when she knew it anyway. As
if anyone could have mistaken Santa
“ ‘But I mustn’t let her see w hat I
am putting hi the stocking—that will
never do,’ said Santa Claus. And she
saw him turn his back and bend over
her stocking and at last hang It up
again all filled with somethin t very
much like a doll poking out of the top.
“ ‘She must have a surprise, Dream
King,’ said Santa Claus.
“ ‘That is all right,’ answered the
Dream King. ‘I simply wanted her to
see you in her dream. And her dream
is really true because you are here,
and she is seeing a perfect picture
of you. That’s my magic camera that
does that. I’m taking pictures of you
every minute and they pass before
Annette’s eyes. You did not want me
to take a picture of you as you filled
the stocking, so I took your back and
she saw a picture of your red coat
and of you bending over the stocking.’
“ ‘Ha, ha,’ laughed Santa Claus.
‘You’re a pretty smart old fellow,
Dream King. So now the little girl is
seeing me through your dream pic
tures, and your pictures are just as
clear and true as can be, eh Dream
“ ‘They are perfect,’ said the Dream
“ ‘Good,’ said Santa Claus. ‘But
I can’t stop to have any more pictures
taken here tonight as I’ve too much
to do.’ But how delighted Annette
was to have had such perfect dream
Truest Philosophy.
The man who is thankful for the
most in life has the truest philosophy.
Lesson in Punctuation.
The teacher was giving the juvenile
class a lesson in punctuation.
"Wnat is that?” she asked of a
small pupil, pointing to a period.
“That,” answered the little one, “is
the lid off of an TV’
The Explanation.
Teacher —Brazil stretches the far
thest of all the South American coun
Reddy Backrow —I suppose that’s
because she’s got so much rubber in
Friend (Worth Choosing.
It’s a great deal more important for
you to be a friend worth choosing, than
to have a friend whom you have chosen
because of what he can do for you.
Be Grateful.
Be grateful not only for what you
receive, but also for your share in the
world’s work.
Our Many Blessings.
It is not until we begin to count our
blessings that we realize how many we
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