Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1883-12-24

Emma. 'He Ill lose 1t all now, ana
Widow Portage had saved up forty
dollars-a dollar week-to buy 4
sewing machine. She put it in -
bank for safe keeping, and now it
isn't likely she'll ever have a sewing
machine. Then there are the five little
Chipleys, who can't go to the Christ
mar tree. or church, because they have
no shoes, poor lambs And lame lit
tie Billy Powers is so sure that Santa
Claus will bring him wheeled chair,
because he has prayed for it every
night for month. Mrs. Powers cried
when she told me of it, for she says
as how it'll be such disappointment.
Wheeled chairs cost twenty dollars,
and poor Mrs. Powers hasn't twenty
cents ahead in the world. And old
Miles Simpson and his wife, as is
going to the poor-house next week,
will have to keep their last Christmas
without so much as a peck Of coal OF
a bit of butchers meat. Oh, dear
what lots of trouble there is in this
world !" And Emma drew long sigh.
II know that" said Simon, gruffiy.
"Stand me up some more of them
cedar boughs. We can't help it
can we?"
''No, of course not" said Emma,
sorrowfully. ''But if / was rich as
Miss Lulu, [ could find such lots of
ways to spend money. That's what 1
mean, Simon"
& If wishes were horses beggars
would ride" chanted Simon, in a
high, monotonous sing-song. "Ain't
that about enough greens for this
room?'
Lulu Ripley had listened to the
conversation, mechanically at first,
but with gathering interest as little
Emma chartered on. A new light
had flashed across the brooding dark
ness of her brain.
'Iam wretched myself" she thought,
"but that is no reason why [ should
not help to heal the sorrows of others.
God helping me, this shall be a merry
Christmas to some in this world !"
She went back to her room and rang
the bell.
Emma % said she, gently.
Miss ~ said Emma, guiltily, feel
ing of her head, which was powdered
over with loose sprigs of cedar and
stray hollyberries.
II have changed my mind. You
may 60 home to your mother for
Christmas day, if you wish.''
"Thank' zee, miss, kindly said
Emma, frightening up at once. And
she ran breathlessly down stairs, to
trumpet forth her delight to the as
sembled household of the kitchen.
Golden and glorious the sun of the
blessed Christmas morning rose uE
from behind the snow-glistening hills
From a thousand churchspires the
clang of rejoicing bells greeted it
from million of holly-garlandeC
homes the voices of little children
bade it welcome.
The Widow portage had beer
aroused unwontedly early by the joy
full cries of three blue-nosed littl,
Portages, who were as we'll pleased
with their penny wooden toys, home
make cakes and one apple piece a
If they had fallen heirs to a who'll
ship-load of automatic French mar
vels.
AS she unbarred the door, to get
pail of water to set the kettle boiling
she started back.
"Good land o'Goshen !" cried Mrs
Portage, who was rather given to old
fashioned expletives Ewhat's this p
1t was a big pine packing-box, on th,
very threshold of her door-a huge
inexplicabIe mammoth of a thing
labeled:
zone Sewing Machine,
From the Factory of Messrs. D-and P
For Mrs. Malina Portage.
Christmas, 1873"
"It amt true," feebly cried Widoy
Portage, holding On to the door-han
die for support. "I'm a-dreamins
yet. A sewing machine? For me
Some of you pinch me, children, t.
make sure m awake
Mrs. P. had not settled this prob
lem to her entire satisfaction, whel
old Marrable came hobbling acros
the road, waving something over hi
| head.
'sLook a-here, Miss Portage !!
howled he, in the high treble of oil
age. s'It's Santa Claus, as true a
you live! We're all children ag'in
an the old chap with the fur cap al
the team o'reindeers is around at hi
old tricks A five-hundred-dollar bill
sealed up in yeller envelope, an
poked under my door, in the dea
o'night, an ma pickin' it up fo
wastepaper! It's the Lords ow
mercy as 1 didn't burn it up, to ST
the kindlin's a-goin', afore 1 see
what it was! Labeled John Marrs
BILE, Esq, to pay off the mortgage
Christmas, 1872
swell, 1 never !'' said the Wido
Portage. ssJest look what I've got.
John Marrable put on his spect;
cles and stared harder than ever.