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The Sisseton weekly standard. (Sisseton, Roberts County, S.D.) 1892-1929, December 21, 1906, Christmas Number, Image 16

Image and text provided by South Dakota State Historical Society – State Archives

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn99062049/1906-12-21/ed-1/seq-16/

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fl'bcrft's gnlug to he a mil road up in Ire
In lcehinil.
And what a fnnnv rallrond 1! will he!
2 would never IhlnU uf Icflnnd an »i Dire
A iiice land.
For work ends ul a eofiuye hv I ho sea.
or the trains will verv JSI:«• Jv on run
n«rM Ilko sloijjh.
And they'll ImriH'Ms tip ihe nn/jlne In
Jingle Ih'IIs nrray.
At IonKt, I cant Iniii^ine It In any oth^r
I I a
y»u won't, nood your I hermonieiers in
In Toftinnd,
I'Hrndlse land,
As tho open earn ko whirling o'er the lea.
EPhcy won't hnve any wehedule so there'll
never be delay,
rates will he ho low that almost any
one can pay,
®V)r In that curious climate it Is Christmas
every day.
In Iceland.
Little Baby Beth
lly ('nrolliu1 II. Slnnlvy.
was New Year's eve. Downstairs
ill the pnrlo.r was Baby Betli'n
tJhristinns tree, just (is It: had boon
arranged a week ago—bisque doll,
,toyfi, glittering bulls, marvelous sugar
dogs and bears and "elphunt.s," candy
apples and hearts, popcorn, colored tapers
'Just ready to be lighted--and upstairs
jBaby Beth was dying. All week long,
,\vllh the fierceness of tigress fighting
•for her young, Margaret Thornn liad
fought for her child's life. From the mo
iinent that the first hoarse cough smote
up»n her ear and Beth liad said, "Mam
ma, it hurts me liere when I toff," she
tad lost no time. Ail that doctors,
iiursos, servants, friends—mother love—
could do had been dnue, and now in her
darkened chamber the mother sat with
iier baby on her knees and wailed. To
•ward night a change had come. Tho
harsh cough ceased, the panting breath
came more quietly.
"Didn't she seem easier?" she liad ask
ed, and tho doetor hud answered briefly,
!*'Ves." Then, after an interval of wait
ing, "Wasn't her breathing less labored?"
jrrhe doctor made no reply.
"Doctor," pileousl.Y, "don't yon think
she is better?"
T)r. Lemuyne turned away. lie hud
.practiced many years, and witnessed
[many scene like this, but to his kind
'lieart each one was new.
"My child," he said, "she will never be
any better—she is dying."
Margaret Thorne made no outcry, shed
do tour—she would have "to-morrow and
after life for tears," to-day she liad—
her baby. She bent over the child and
balf stretched out her arms with the im
pulse to take her and go somewhere—
anywhere—away from everybody. It ivns
'the instinct of the wounded animal. Then
yhe fell into the monotonous swinging mo
Ition of the knees, familiar to mothers,
:putting her little one softly the while as
if she were putting her to sleep.
It was heart-breaking. The women to
whom the child was only a dear little
baby who "would be better off in heaven,"
as the phrase goes, crept about the room
irecplng softly with aching hearts. Af
ter a time Margaret looked up.
"Doctor," she asked, "how long?"
can hardly tell," he answered, "but
•nly a few hours at best, 1 think."
She turned to the women.
"Send for her father," she said briefly.
There was a slight stir of surjjrise. Sig
nificant glances passed from one to an
other behind her bowed head. Then they
•Went out to do her bidding.
Tho message was quickly sent and as
quickly answered. The case brooked no
{delay. Margaret Thorno heard the fa
Itniliar step iu the hall, then in the room
below. A moment later he came in. The
[women spoke to him in the sympathetic
'key of the sick room and the doctor si
lently wrung his hand. Margaret looked
[up with a slight movement of the head,
bnt did not offer him her hand.
"Margaret," ho said, "it was very good
•f you to send for mo."
"It was only right," she said, her voice
Imrdening in her efforts to steady il "she
!l* your child, too."
He made no effort at conversation, and
•OO they sat, the silence of death upon
[them. It grew oppressive. The women,
ono by one, stole out of the room, and
doctor finally muttered something
about going into the library to lie down,
telling them to call him if there should
be any change. The two were left alone
flrith the dying child.
It was a strange scene, Each held a
|baby hand each with a burden of grief
.unutterable bent over the little form and
Scratched the flickering life go out and
'tacb shut up and doublc-lockcd and bolt
the heart that the other should not
pnow what was therein. They were but
hand's breadth apart, but between them
Was a great gulf fixed.
John Thorne had not seen his child
•face that never-to-be-forgotten day when
lie gave her and his home into Margaret's
hands and went forth alone. IIow he had
'loafed for a sight of the baby face, for
touch of the baby hands, none but him
would ever know. But ho had been
,160 proud to ask to see her, and Mar
jfaret had said in bitter scorn, "It is the
May of the sex. A woman would never
feire forgotten her own child." And she
lild clasped Beth passionately to her
lieart and erieiJ out.
And you won't have any fretful vis a vis
For up then? In tlml. anything but. splee
Hut. Hpico land,
The ran? are always cold a* they can
In Iceland*,
Oh, they'll Imve to dl^ the sleepers out a
dozen tluien a day,
pr perhaps they'll tunnel through the great
foljj Iceber^M In the bay,
And that will he just, bully till tn* lee
bergn move awny,
Journey will be Jolly up In Iceland,
In Ireland,
fTho scenery'** no wonderful to nee
It will aeem like nothtriK nhorL of para
dise land,
and with a touch
I will be father and
mother both to y»»u, my baby, mv poor,
forsaken baby."
As lie benl: over h«»r now, all his heart
In his oves, a stnuige leHirm of doubt le
fjan at her hen it. Had In* really
loved the eluhl like ilus.' I ne.jintortable
regrets took possession ol her. t'ould she
have misjudged him? She miijht have sent
Heth to sei» I in orcasioua 11 v, seemed
to her now. when she iiad her all the
time. He bad been more generous rhan
She glanced furtively at bin. lie rest
ed hi* head on his n^lit hand, his left
flapping I »e h's, His eye- were fixed Oil
ihe child as he would in these tew mo
ments left least, his tarnished bean upon
that which bad been su
Something in his position made Margaret
think ol one other nijjht when thev bad
Hat lik*' tins and watched J»etli through
the iioiip, and how ihey Jrid lelt that if
(»od wcjjld only spare her they could
have nothing in life i, trouble them again.
How gentle and tender John had been
that night
And then there was Ihe time that Ileth
was burned and John had walked with
her the whole night lorn: and would not
even let the mo! her res! him, berau^*- "she
was weak and he was .strong," be had
naid. low the memories came thronging
upon her! Oh, if she could only wake
and lind that this year had been dream
-a horrible dream and there h:id been
no quarrel
The clock ticked on. the lire sputtered
fitfully, but the silence «if ihe vigil was
unbroken. John Thorne raised his head
and looked at. .Margaret as she lay with
closed eyes. Her whiK», suffering fa--.
touched his heart. How much older she
looked. It, was only four years since she
had stood a bride of nineteen and Hiv«m
herseU' to him. Why. could it be only
four years? Fl seemed like an eternity.
The breath comes slowly. The linle
hands are very still, and yet, baby
fingers, through the solemn watches of
this night, thou'rl gathering up 1b- tan
gled, broken threads of these two live-.
I—| of Jre.jfj6y
.— 5WAddlin^clo-1f e5
z&dde rjly
other hand might
use, art weaving them together, deftly,
surely, with heaven-sent skill!
There was slight stir. The mother
and father felt quiver pass through the
little form. With startled faces they bent
over her. There was a gasp, a sudden
throwing up of the little hands—then all
was still.
In an instant his arms were around her,
her head 011 his breast.
"Margaret, my wife!"
"O John, John she said.
Tlie clock struck twelve. A New Year
had dawned.
In the twilight of a summer day ft man
and woman stand beside a little grave.
There is au air of subdued sadness about
them that tells to whom the little mound
belongs, and yet when they speak it is
hopefully and cheerfully. It. is a tiny
grave—"only a baby." a stranger would
say—but we who have stood beside such
know that love and grief are uot measured
by feet and inches.
The glory of the setting suu fills the
place. It lights up the faces of father
and mother as they lay, with loving
hands, forget-me-nots upon the green turf,
and then, hand in hand, go forth. A stray
sunbeam falls across the white stone. We
stoop to read the inscription. It is a very
simple one:
"And a little child shall lead them."
—The Housewife.
111 Got
Tommy (on Christr
Where does Sauta Clau
Mamma—Oh. he bn
Tommy—-Well, he
anyone palm off ti
Town Topics.
got nil his stuff,
ist be a jay to let
Memory of 11 ti p|
t'rot ect
it)ere was v/ilf ttjc Arj^el &
God, Aod iAyit?5,
lOylory io Clod 1*0 bl^besf»A0d 013 e&rtf)
,(11*7 -U'O
On of I
HK memory of
happv davs long
ago sliould ever
protei-t Santa
I'laus. When vour
looks voti
ly in the
,e and sa\
'Papa, 'larence
.M rj fl said
tnere isn't any
Santa Clans and
I punched him,
lor 1 know there
i-." w)\-.\ are vou
gui-.'i.' If iV l''or*
th«» blow and
d"s roy your
and. lucitlent
thiniis he be-
ji v*
cling to a h.ippv invu! oi
hoy's faith in Nanta t'iaus.
ally in a good many otiier
lieves in, but doesn't uinler^iandV
"Why discuss the matter at a 11*?** is a
natural question, iiccause jj }s a tjues
lion that always arises ju Christmas time.
An Kastern ]»reacher is discussing it from
the pulpit and holds that deceit is sin and
that the truth and only the truth is the
be«t steady diet for both young and old.
The man or woman who would take
from a child his faith in a .Mys
terious Hejng, who rewards all the good
children and skips ihe bad ones on his
annual tour of countless chimneys, has a
shriveled bean. We want more happi
ness not less. We need more good iuflu
ences ill the lives of our children, .'lot
fewer. Nothing hut good ever came from
lie Santa I'lntc Myth, fi N a -iu-icis
ghost, a delicious !:n
friend of be children. i
ness, charily, goodness. 11
encourages. He briuhten
niiliions of lit i!•• ones with
ticipati.?n and the glaihc^
il* v. iiN
teaches krnd
insnires and
(Ajtpd tfyefe were Abidipg ip ttfe field, Keeplr/g
WAtclpotfcr }1)r.ir flock" by oigb'h
cJtjd, lq,'H3c Ai7^al of Wje Lord ct.rye t(?e glor/of "fr)e Lord
I—| toerrj £*r)i wei-c
the joy of an
of receiving,
lie is a companion of brownies nnd elves
and fairies, and flowers ilia: speak.
When we ah'dish Merry Old St. Nick
lets burn all the story books, the fairv
first Christmas Stone:
lAJ^d At^cl 5did aryt'o foerr}/l:e&,r pot", for,bel)o)d I brir)^ y£u %cod fidty^Zs
Wtycl} be. lb &II people.
Hjor ^tjt'o yoa i" bor^ i^ii'di-y it tye cify of' pAvId Saviour, wlpicl^ 15 Ctjrtif'
Ttje Lord.
09d i')i5 be a
ip a ripA9^er.
Ye fii?d "itjc b^be vvrApped 19
roa W'lfade
Lord b^+9 njAtle kqowr? aryfo a$- .•
tl7ey.cd.me wit^ fa'yte.a.Qd' foaod f^Ary^tjd Josephiipe bd.be
t^c jb^pberd retarget, ^lor-yfyin^ God for &\\
tales, and all the make-believes that wield
an influence for good in the iives o£ chil
dren. But Snnta Claus is in
Strange Origin «f OhrUtinn* Tree.
Most of us know that the Christmas
tree comes to us direct from Germany.
And we know of the tree worship of the
Druids which obtained iu England and
France, and which probably had some in
fluence on the later use of the tree in the
Christian festival, liut we do uot all
know that a similar festival with the tree
as a crowning feature is observed among
many heathen nations, and that it comes
from sun worship, which is older than his
tory. The revival of the sun after the
winter solstice has ever been, the subject
of rejoicing and of celebration by cere
monies which represent the new light
brought back to the world. Our tree,
with its small candles, its gilded knick
uacks and toys for the children,' is a di
rect descendant of this old festival in
honor of the sun.
Traces of it exist in Iceland, where the
"service tree" is found adorned with burn
ing lights during Christmas night. The
English yule log is
eighry feet high to be erected on a moun
tain. It was lighted during New Years
night, and tie* illumination was seen for
hundreds of miles, eclipsing the light of
the moon. 'I his candle tree is no longer
lighted iu China, heing replaced by au
unusual number of lanterns, which are
huug everywhere. A suggestion of the
tree, however, still survives in Japan. At
the W\v Year two evergreen trees lire
placed without, on either side of the door.
Their tops are lied together with the
sacred band of straw, am! various objects,
dried lobsters and oranges are fastened to
their branch*'*. Woman Home otn
pa n.on.
tunliM u.*41ohi llic Survival
slavery l)ny*.
In soin" parts of Uu Smith, notably
1 1
ottpe ipcA^eoly
gorje AWAy fronpi^cn? ir)To
AQo+^er, Let" as ijow^oevey
.. i(?3 v^5 w+?ic!? tl?e
faint survival
^d l)eArd Ai?d jecQ.ciQdifwA^told^o'tof^eiT).
~ST LUKE JI?S~-~2 0~
for If the children love him, so do the
parents. Memory of happy days of long
ago protects him.
century hence he
will be making his rounds and laughing,
with tho children, at those who would de
stroy him.—Cincinnati Post.
festival. But it is beyond these that I
wish to draw your attention, back further
even than the Druid mysteries of the Gal
lic forests. It is to China, that home of
all wonders and of all history. It has
been shown that as long ago
as 247
B. C.
a tree with a hundred lumps and flowers
was placod on the steps of the audience
hall. This appears again in the records
of Princess Yam:, who lived
D., and who caused a hundred-lamp tree
'hri is
up atim- ill'1 maniii'i' ol slavery 'lays.
Two weeks ltchire the testival brawti.N
'oloivd iin-ii ill tin' I'Uiploy of the ]ilanta
tion i\\'ner seari'li mil a traei. iell
lite tree of greatest size, eitt olT ihe trtuilc
where the eireiuut'ereMie is ^rea'est, big
ailtnii ol it fiM".iK tlie spai1*1 ol
the open lii-art li. fasten heavy chains to it
by driving in spikes, haul it to the near
est" river or poiiil. sink it ami atu'hor it
well below the surface. On Christmas eve
ir is ilrawn up. taken to the owners man
sion and in the presence of his family,
relatives and friends the dripping lot is
placed on a roaring tiiv in the hearlh. To
reduce the water-soaked wood to ashes
is a slow process and sometimes a week
elapses before ill's is accomplished. In
Ihe meantime ii: plantation darkies do
not work while il," incineration is in pro
rcs. On Christmas eve tlie hostess
servs tiie company with oygnoR and she
supplies th' with eatables while tlie log
sizzles iu the lire place. The banjo and
L'uiiar are brought into play and the old
mJodies are sung and jigs and other
dnnc"s are gone through with zest. The
white folks lake'a hand in the fun mak
ing. loo. and with song and story make
the colored folks happy. At some of these
gatherings .100 persons take part, the old,
capacious mansion giving ample room for
Cnrioun VaHlum of OvfordKlilre.
In some places in Oxfordshire, Eng
land, it was the right of every maid ser
vant to ask the hired man for a bit of
ivy to trim the house. If he turned a
deaf ear to her importunities or forgot
her request she would steal a pair of his
breeches and nail them to the gate in tho
yard or on the highway. This was sup
posed to debar him from all privileges of
the mistletoe.
Eany to lie Happy.
Mrs. Nexdoor—Aren't you always
worried half to death when it comes to
buying a Christmas present for your
Mrs. Sunshine—Mr,
1 1 0
I buy my
husband something I want for myself,
and he buys me something he wants for
himself, and theu we trade.
Blow the trumpet, beat the drum,
Glad am I that Sauta's come I
"l'was the (lav before Christinas, anii nil
through the land.
Kaug the cry of the children that none can
"Did Santa coming, rare treasures he
A pack loaded down with aio.-t wonderful
Hut, old Suura. alas, like a mere mortal
To fret and to fume at his duties began
For he hail been maming about, iu dis
And the state of affairs had caused him
For what do you think was the first thing
he learned?
Why ail the bad children to good oues had
Cone all the 111 tempers and cross, angry
Devoted each child t" hi* work and his
And he groaned as he viid. "I plainly can
On this Christmas Kve there's no shirking
for me.
Not one naughtv child in the whole merrv
"fis plain 1 must work until five hv the
"Mtit. mv dear." said his wife, "you oiig'j
to be ^lad
That, at last there's not left a child who
is bad."
Said the saint, with a smile and a look 1
was nucer,
"They ought to expect me each day in
—Waverley Magazine.
HE \v is a wild ouf. Such :i
night and such weather as only
England can inflict 011 suffer
ing humanity. The dispeusary was
in darkness, save a light which gleamed
from the windows of the resident physi
cian's room.
I)r. Brown, the resilient physician, had
made a bad day of it. tramping through
the snow, making his regular calls on the
sick poor ot' his district. .Now he found
small comfort: in his pipe as he sal by hi
little stove in tlie dispensary room.
Just now tho young doctor suffered
from an attack of the lilucs. He had
worked hard, this last year, for his de
gree, and after gradual ion had bitui chos
en from among 'JO applicants for the post
ot. resident at the dispensary. The posi
tion paid in experience and gave a wide
field for work among the poor of the dis
trict, both at their homes and at the dis
pensary. The salary was chiefly salary
iu name, S1O0 a year and room rent free,
not enough to cover expenses but. it was
the experience to be gained that paid.
lie had been a young man with expec
tations and had had matrimonial designs
011 a certain dainty young lady, and what
hope was there for a poor dispeusary doc
tor? Only lhat morning the wealthy Mr.
I'eabody. her pompous papa, had passed
I)r. Brown on the .street and had return
ed his polite '"good morning" with a cold
look, which seemed to say: "1 do not
wish to know you. sir." And that, too,
when but. a few years before the student
Brown, with great expectations, had been
a welcome guest at the I'eabody mansion.
Society had gossiped lhat Dolly Pea
body and Harvey I'.rown would make a
He had written once since that to Miss
Dorothy and his letter had been returned
to him unopened. The Peabudys had gone
abroad and he had heard 110 more of them
until to-day. when Mr. Pcabody had given
him tlie cut direct.
Dr. Brown had worked hard all day.
had had a case at: a slum tenement house
that afternoon and had missed hi supper
at the boarding house. As lie brooded
over these things small wonder that the
"blue devils" tormented him.
"Devil of a night out." mused the doc
tor. "Christmas eve. too! Hope I won't
have a call out to-night. What an old
duffer that Peabody is. anyway. Won
der if Dol—Miss Peabody would cut me
like that7 Hang it all! A man don't
feel good to be frozen out like that just
because he has lost his expectations. 1
thought I knew Dolly—dash it, I do know
her! She wouldn't, throw a fellow over
like that. But, why -hang ir all. but I
do feel empty: pity that boarding house
couldn't keep open of a night once in
awhile, and I'm broke, too. Well, there's
no hope for me with lior pater, that's
The electric bell over his head rang
violently and Dr. Brown, stepping to the
speaking tube, shouted: "Well, what's
"Say. be youse de doctor? Doys a swell
bloke up de street wots all smashed up.
Dey wauts de doctor to get a wiggle 011,
A few minutes later Dr. Brown was
stumbling through the storm in the wake
of the small gamin who had summoned
him. At the corner two men were holding
a frightened horse, to which was hanging
the remains of a broken harness. A little
further 011 was an overturned cab. sur
rounded by a number of residents who had
turned out in spite of the storm. Thev
had just pulled from under the wheels an
elderly gentleman, whose dress had stamp
ed liiin as a "swell" with the gamin.
Dr. Brown was all professional in an
instant, and superintended the carrying
of the injured man to the dispensary,
where he was placed 011 tlie doctor's own
cot. Dr. Brown did not need to he told
thai this victim of a runaway cab was
the same Mr. Peabody who had cut him
on the street the morning of ihat same
In the doctor's room patient, and phy
sician had passed the night in silence, the
doctor doing all in his power to soothe
his patient, his personal feelings buried
deeply under professional zeal.
In the morning Mr. Peabody had made
an attempt at conversation, but the doe
tor would not permit it.
The bell was ringing again and Dr
Brown hurried to open the door to Miss
I'eabody and her father's valet.
"You, Harvey, you?" Then, blushin
like a rose: "Harvey, take me to papa."
In another moment she was at her fath
er's side.
.B .„V
I a
Mr. Billings settled himself comforta
bly in his favorite chair beside the Stove
in the grocery store, and returned the
neighborly greetings of the other regular
"Yes." lie said, meditatively, "this is
the last night of the old year. Sometliin'
kind o' solemn 'bout it. loo, when ye stop
to think of it. A year past an' gone,
an' a new one—nicbbe the last some of
us'll ever see just beginnin'. Ir makes
a man feel serious. People laugh 'bout:
New Year's resolutions, but 1 maintain
's a good tiling for a man to pull up
now an' then au' start fresh an' the first
of the year 'ems
most natural an'
in" lime do
'Wlikin' any res'iut ions yourself. 'Li
shaV" asked Nathan llohlis, good-natur
"Yes. sir. I am replied Elisha, defi
antly. "I'm makin' one, anyway, an' I
don't ear.' who knows it. I'm resolviu' to
keep a better holt 011 my temper this
year. "He lhat rnletli his spirit is Iwtter
than he that laketli a city." the Book says.
I've had my failin's that way, as some »f
ye know but now we're beginnin' a new
year an' a new century, too. I'm goia' to
turn over a new leaf."
"What was that you said 'bout a nmv
century7" asked old Ehen Cook, from bis
seal in ihe corner.
"I said now that we was IreginiiiiT a
new century I was goin'
"What you talkin' about. 'I.islia? The
twentieth century began a year ago. 'ffo
morrow'll lie nineteen hundred an' one,
won't it'r"
"Course 'twill but ain't 'one' the first
number there is'.' An' don't that make to
morrow the lirst day of tin' new century?"
"Not by a long !iot. 'less I've forgotten
how to count. It don't lake a hundred
an' one years to make a century, does it?"
"No. but it tak"s more'ii ninety-nine.
S'pose 1 was to begin with one. an'
"Hold on a minute," interposed .Tudson,
the storekeeper. "Let's say that: Bill,
here, owed me a hundred dollars an' start
ed to pay me in dollar bill.-,, callin' out
'one.' 'two.' 'three'
"Well, s'pose he did."
"No, .flld." suggested Setli (Jihsori.
"Here's the way I heard that feller up to
the academy put il How old is a fuan
oil his one-hundredth birthday'.'"
"(iood land and seas!" shouted Mr. Bil
lings, as lie rose excitedly to his foet. "If
he didn't know any more'ii this c'lection
of hand-picked lunkheads he wouldn't
pass lor more'ii six or seven, at most.. It's
a waste o" breath talkin' to ve. My ol"
sorrel mare's got more sense than the
whole passel of ye!" and lie started for
the door.
"What was it 'I.isha was sayiu' 'bout
.New "urs res'iut ions?" Mcpherson ask
ed the storekeeper, as the door shut with
a bans. Bnt .rudson was too intent on
his argument with (libson to reply.—•
outh's ('ompauioii.
The Wci'k Stct'orc,
Tis tlie week before ('lirist mas, and all
through Ihe pi-ire
Each woman goes shopping, Willi worn,
weni'y face
And held in tier hand is a long, fearserne
Of names that could simply by no means
tjo missed—
So shnpping, and shopping, and shopping
they go
rtuniped. shoved, pushed, and tangled In
siiuad and in row.
'This the week before ('lirljpnns, and father
is sad
Though mot tier and listers are all of them
Poor father retleois oil the state of hla
wea 11
And broods en expenses that tell on lii.-i
liea It
Hut once in the year come the glad Christ
mas Day
The rest of tlie year's for poor father to
'Tis the week before i'liristinns—and now
I lie coy girl
l'uts 011 her glad garments, adjusts her
cute curl
And sends for tin.' lover with whom she has
To tell him she knows he's the one she
shonM rnst..
And he -lie forgives her. The gas is turned
And this is ihe week before Christmas,
you know.
'Tis the week before Christmas, and all
li rough the home
The children are watched as thev aimless
ly roam.
And when 1 tie .- approach any wardrobs
or eliest
They are told (hey must stop—and obi,
the neliesr
And O. Ihe sweet children! So faithf
are lhey
At ul»y Santa will come Clirlst-
•Tis Ihe week before Christmas, and all
I hrough he
\t 'work' on n!'"
happy. She had
said Harvey!" Her eyes-weil.
Dr. Brown knew what her *. slid
As the patient was aa^d n, his car
nage he said: "Dr. Brown, this is your
case I shall expect you to finish it.' sir.
Please call this
tain News.
evening."—Uocky Moun-
ly and boil four hours. Put
a S 1
That somebody jingled out once on a time—
When Is the prophet who wishes to
W. I). Nesbit, i„ Chicago Tribune.
I'liim I'tKltliiiK.
One pound of g,-
ted bread, one
a quarter pounds of grated suet,
pound ot r.itsins. one pound of brown
sugar, twelve eggs, well beaten
wineg ass!tils of brandy,
pound ol citron, cut line. Mix all
Putting it in l.lu? cloth stir
cioth and sprinkle with flour.
Ine night before. In tho morning be-
two ta­
blespoon fills of wheat flour, beat
Tie tight­
ed on the under part
the pudding, add cinuamou and
if liked.
the pot
1-ikeil the oil Way Bc*t.
Pa. 1 ve wrote Sanfy Claus a 'nother
hat about. Georgie?"
I tole lii 111 lie mustn't come in a auto
mobile: I want him to conic in a sleigh."
Detroit Free Press.
Thut Costly StniNoii.
What makes your father look so blu«
to-night 7"
Somebody thoughtlessly
mentioned the fact that Christmas is com*
ug."—Chicago 'ost.

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