The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1884-01-02
A MERRY CHRISTMAS.

\ MENnl
..Onlv three days, now. to Christmas"
said Mary Pruyn. j~oyfully: ''to Merry
Christmas. All, it seems as if l could
scarcely wait"
The '.click-click" of the machines was
Keeping up a noise like the descent OF a
gigantic haiistorm along the narrow alslcs
of the factory. the stcambclts that sup
piled the motive power were whlrllnS
swiftly. and the operatives. ranged in a
row, sat guiding the long strips of cloth
under the glittcring needles.
Outside, the December sky was already
darkcning for the Storm-cloudcd sunset.
and the pines and ccdars that fringedt the
mo~untain-Sidc were tossing their arms
wildly in the wind.
Ruth Harper's machine was next to
that of Mary Pruyn. She glanced up at
the words.
merry CnriStmas-is it, then, so merry
to you?7 she repeated, with slight smile.
ooh, | forgot; YOU have a home"
Sup in Vermont" nodded Mary. "All
our people are coming back to the old
homestead to spend Christmas. We are
to have a tree, just as if we were little
children, and grandpa is to hang a pres
ent for each one on its branches. And
we're to have a straw ride over the hills,
and a dance. Oh, it will be such fun.
But, Ruth. why don't you 60 home for.
Christmas." she questioned, eagerly.
81 have no home" said Ruth. shrug-
ging her shoulders, "cxcept at Mrs. LII
ferts'.'
"Christmas at q p~oarding-house "
said Mary. with arched eyebrows. "Oh,
that wouldn't be pleasant at ALL"
Just then the foreman came strlding
past. y.
ssWe're going to turn off steam, di-
rectly," said he. 1T don't fairly pay to
light up the place at night. and our hands
like to get home afore dark
Which was natural enough, for Ben
field mountain was a wild and desolate
place in these chill winter twilights, and
some of the girls lived several miles
away, and presently the siytyor seventy
hands were dispensing in all directions,
some laughing and pclting each other
with snow-balls; some striving against
the keen northwest wind; some clus-
tered in little knots-others all alone.
Among these last was Ruth Harper,
and as she descended the steep noun
tain-path. where the cranberry-swamp
below, crustcd over with a thin rim of
ice, reflected the red tints of the stormy
sunset. and the monster pines rustled
mvsteriously in the wind, she repeatedto
herself:
merry Christmas. 1t is merry TO
every one but me. Why should he
shut out from the general rejoicing of the
worldl And | Will not be! I'll make q
Merry Christmas for myself. III 60 to
old Mrs. Cappcl'S, the lonclicst and most
forsakcn creature, except myself, that |
know Of, and we'll spend our Christmas
together. Perhaps some human kindness
and comranionship may cheer her up a
little. | am quite sure it will do me
good, ard keep me from fossilizing into
mere lump of sclfshness."
Ruth Harper went home and counted
up her slender stock of moncy-not very
much. VIC may be surc--and in her own
mind she apportioncd it to various kindly
uses.
She had been alone all her life, this
dark-cyed, Spanish-compicxiuiel fac
tory-girl. Her earliest associations had
been the high, bleak walls and blue
checked uniform of an orphan asylum.
From the very beginning, life had
been a struggle with her. There was
one time-whcn she kept the district
school at the foot of the mountain. be-
fore the factory wheels had begun to
buzz, and the spirit of commercial enter
prise had entered in'o their lonesome
elens-whcn she had fancied that John
Capped. the handsome, restless grandson
of this very fnendlcss old dame with
whom she proposed to spend her solitary
Christmas, cared Il little for her. And
then life seemed to assume Il more roscatc
hue. and all the world was different, for
awhile.
But John Capped went away and never
told her that he loved her. He was
coming back when he had made his for
ture. he said. with that sanguinc airi-
ness which belongs to Onc-and-twcnty.
But he had never come. and Ruth
Harper had put al that part OF her life
away into the dark chambers of the past.
trying to think of it as seldom as pos
siblc.
What is the nsc ," she said to her
self, sadly.
She went to the village the next day,
after work hours. and bought her little
fvc-pound turkey, and peck of red apples.
and Quart of glossy cranbcrricS. And she
stood before the bakers window for some
time. t%houghtfullv considering which of
the Christmas cake; she should buy,
finally deciding on one frosted over with
sugar lilies and stuck with scarlet ber-
rieS.
"a dollar is a good deal to pay for a
cake" she pondered; " but, then, Christ
mas only comes but once a year, and
Grandma Capped used to be fond of
cake"
Mrs. Liffert, the boarding-housc keeper,
was there, pinching bony turkeys under
the wings, pricing forlorn-loOking geese,
bargaining for damaged apples, and
wrangling over wiltcd lunches of celery.
She looked keenly at Miss Harper.
"Eh" said she. "Fraid wont give
We enough to eat? Buyin' fruit and
cakes for yourself"
"No," said Ruth, quietly. 81 am
going to. spend Christmas with a friend >
I'VE don't make no deduction for a
single day off" said Mrs. Litfert, sharply:
"Neither do l expect it Of you" said
Ruth, biting her lip.
And the clearinghouse keeper went,
chuckling, on her way.
Old Mrs. Capped sat, all alone. in the
dreary little cabin, pcrchcd high up on
the mountain side. The wind was from
the east-a quarter that never agreed
with her rheumatism-and the fire
smouldertd, and her oatmeal -porridge
had been scorched by the widow Per-
kins, who came in, by fits and starts, to
''do" for her.
lit amt no use," said Mrs. Capped.
II amt decently comfortable, living
this way. And Betsey Perkins has for,
got to bring in the armful of wood; and
the teapot is put up on the high shelf,
where l can't reach it, and-Bl Bless me!
who's that a-tappin' at the door? Come
in, whoever you be! Why, if it amt
Ruth Harper"
"Yes," said Ruth, brightly, as she
came in and set down her multifarious
baskets, packages and parcels. 'I'm
Santa Claus, Mrs.. Capped; and I've
come to spend Christmas with YOU. We
are both alone In, thr world-widoy and |