The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1881-05-04
LITTLE BLUE STOCKING.

peaks OF the Sierra NeNaud iilouh-
tains.
The town was irregularly laid out,
and was scattered along a creek
which emptied into the Consummes
river several miles below. Both the
dwellings and business houses-or,
more properly speaking, cabins
were constructed of unhewn pine
logs. the crevices between the tim
hers being "chinked and plastered
with mud. The town contained at
least a dozen saloons, or saloons and
gambling houses combined, and IN
these hells much of the hard earned
money of the miner parted company
with him, to take up Its temporary
abode in the saloon till or the pock-
cts of the professional gambler.
The dwellings of the town were seat
tered along the creek or built on the
side of the mountain, the majority
of them beingrough " bachelordens,
for women were scarce IN the newly
discovered diggings.
In a small cabin in the upper end
of the town sat a woman in widow 5
weeds, holding upon her knee a
bright-eyed. sunny-faced little girl
about five years old, while a little
cherub Of . boy lay upon a bear skin
before the open fireplace. 1t was
Christmas Eve, and the woman sat
gazing abstractedly into the fire.
She Was vet young, and rs the
glowing flames lit up her sad face
thev invested il with a weird beau
ty.
Mary Stewart was the widow OF
Aieck Stewart, and but two years
before had lived comfortably and
happy in camp on the American
river. Aleck was a brawny miner,
but the premature explosion of a
blast in an underground tunnel had
blotted out his life in an instant,
leaving his family without a protec-
tor. and in Strengthened cireumstan-
ces. His daily wages had been their
sole support. and now that he had
gone, what could they DO?
With her little family Mrs. Stew
art had emigrated to the camp in
which we find them (all western
mining towns are called camps,
and there she earned a prccarous
livelihood by washing clothes for
the miners. Hers was a hard lot,
but the brave little woman toiled on,
cheered by the thought that her
daily labors stood between her dar-
ling little ones and the gaunt wolf OF
starvation. Their clothes were patch
ed and shabby, and their food plain,
and sometimes scant, yet they were
never reduced to absolute suffering.
Jack Dawson, a strong, honest
miner, was passing the cabin this
Christmas Eve, when the voice OF
the little girl within attracted his
attention. Jack possessed an inOr-
dinate love for children, and Galthough
his manly spirit would abhor the
sneaking practice of eaves-dropping,
he could not resist the temptation
10 listen to the sweet prattling voice.
The first words he caught were:
Before papa died we always had
Christmas, didn't we, mammal"
Yes, Trotty darling, but papa
earned money enough to afford to
make his little pets happy at least
once a year. You must remember
Trotty, that we are very poor, and
although mamma works very, very
hard, she can scarcely earn enough
to supply us with food and clothes.
Little bright-faced Benny raised
his curly head from its soft nest in
the warm bear skin, and cheerily
said:
"Des' wait till | dit to be a man
mamma. an 90 won't have to wort
Use doin' to be a dreat big miner ike
papa was, an dit 90 ever so much
money, but / won't do near 'em
hateful blastin' fings an dit TILED
like papa did"
Jack Dawson still fingered on the
outside He could not leave, al
though he felt ashamed of himself
FOR listening.)
why, bless my little man, what
brave future he has planned | do
hope and pray, darling, that you
will grow up a strong and good man,
and one who will be blessing and
a comfort TO mamma when she gets
old"
We hung up oar stockings last
Christmas, didn't we, mamma
questioned the little girl.
Yes, Trotty, but we were poor
then, and Santa Claus never notices
real poor people. He gave you a
little candy then, just because you
we're such good children"
Is we any poorer now, man.
ma?"
"0h, yes, much poorer. lie would
never notice US at all now"
Jack Dawson detected tremor of
sadness in the widows voice rs she
uttered the last words, and he wiped
4 suspicious dampness from his
eyes.
Where's our clean stockings,
mamma? I'm going to hang mine
up anyhow; maybe he viii come
like he did before, just because
we try to be good children" said
Trotty.
1t viii be no use, darling. / am
sure he viii not come" and tears
gathered in the mothers eyes rs she
thought of her empty purse.
don't care-I'm going to try
anyhow. Please get one of my
stockings, mamma" pleaded the lit
tle girl.
Your clean stockings are on the
line outside, and / cannot go out
and hunt for them this bitter cold
night. You may hang up your old
ones; but, oh darling, / fear you
viii be terribly disappointed in the
morning. Please let it 90 till next
Christmas, and then we may be
richer"
No, mamma, | ann going to try
anyhow"
Jack Dawson's great, generous
heart swelled until it seemed break
ing from his bosom. He heard the
patter of little bare feet on the cabin