The tribune. [volume] (Beaufort, S.C.) 1874-1876, 1875-01-06
JANE FAIRBANKS'S HEROISM.
A story of Christ mas Eve

A story of Christmas Eve.
Last Christmas eve sat in the little
Parnassus theater, with q sense of con-
scious virtue pervading every fiber of my
being because 1 was there with Paul
Lenox, dramatic critic, listening to an
intensely classic tragedy, instead of at
the Temple, where I secretly longed to
be, and gazing at seventy-five scantily
robed fairies. singing out of tune and
Standing on one foot in perfect unison.
L yawned for the sixty third time during
tile wait between the fourth and fifth
acts, and wondered what kept Lenox
awake, when was startled by deep
sigh from that usually quiet person.
"She's very lovely" said he, dropping
his opera glass and turning away his
eyes from lady i'll private box, at
whom he had been attentively staring
"I wonder if she remembers where she
was, Christmas eve, seven years ago 2"
"Where was she2" I asked, but just
then the prompter's bell rang, and Lenox
knit his critical brows and became
strictly attentive to the exits and en-
frances, the infections and gestures of
of their ability befogging the luster of
the "star's" genius by a cloud of piteous
blunders. Not being critic myself,
and not having any responsibility in re-
gard to the formation of public opinion,
L entirely neglected the play, and de-
voted myself to gazing assiduously at the
lady who had effected the miracle of en-
chaining the attention of woman hating
Paul Lenox, and of forcing compli-
mentary adjective from lips little used to
praise the fair sex. She was, as he had
said, lovely, and looking at the clear cut
handsome face, and remembering Lenox's
last words, tried to find in it's lines
some suggestion that would reveal to me
the mystery concealed in his last words.
Where had she spent Christmas eve,
seven years ago? I queried, mentally;
but neither the proud, sensitive mouth,
nor the frank, fearless eyes told any
tales. 1 whispered the question to
Lenox, receiving only savage look for
my pains, and renewed my questioning
gaze, continuing it until the green cur
tain descended, when I attacked him
with eager questions on the subject
"If you want me to tell you anything, {"
said he, shortly, "come back to the
office and wait till I've written up this
thing; then I'll talk; now I want to
think"
So / went down to the Office of the
Trumpet and sat in an atmosphere of ci-
gar and pipe smoke, and listened to an
immense amount of editorial cynicism on
every subject in the universe, curiously
at variance with the enthusiastic leaders
in process of evolution, and then found
myself walking up town with Lenox and
hearing the story of Jane Fairbanks's
Christmas eve adventure.
The night before the Christmas of
1867, said Lenox, Jane Fairbanks found
herself in the woods with boy, and, to
the best of her knowledge and belief, five
miles from any human habitation. The
causes Of this rather uncomfortable po-
ntion were feminine obstinacy and sew
eral railroads.
Twelve hours before she was at Pine
Grove Academy, safe and happy but
suddenly inspired with wish to eat her
Christmas dinner at home, she had left
that scholastic retirement, and committed
herself, without any escort, to the tender
mercies of the railway system of Ameri-
ca, which, she says, consists principally
of branches and functions, and is off
cered by fiends who necessarily shrek
"Change cars 7" AS well as can be as
certained by q careful collation. of her
account and six railway guides" which
fatty contradict each other in every par
ticular, she made only five mistakes in
seven hours travelling, which reflects
great credit upon her GOODNESS, but at 4
o'clock she found herself eleven miles
from home standing on the platform OF
q lonesome little railway station, and
looking at fast feeting "express, D
which she had fondly fancied was an
Accommodation" and by means oi
which she had meant to complete he,
homeward journey.
81 don't care" she said, defiantly, te
the station master, who had kindly but
feebly waved o flag in the vain endeavol
to attract the attention of the conducto,
of the express, who, guessing the state
of affairs, had made derisive gestures
and refused to pause.
81 don't care" she repeated, as he
smiled feebly and deprecatingly, and