The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1885-12-23
PLAYING SANTA CLAUS.

Ethel had seen nine bright and hap
DIV years. Christmas was coming, and,
like many another little girl, whose
conscience was clear because of duty
done, of lessons learned aud of scales
practiced, she was thinking pleasantly
of the near future.
a pretty picture she made in her
bright, merino wrapper. her brown
eyes fixed upon the snowy landscape,
where large troop of robins were dis
porting themselves amid haze of bare
twigs. One could see plainly that she
was q child who had taste for the
graceful aud the beautiful. hence, it
was not wonderful that the humble
little cot across the meadow, which
once, in her mind, she had compared
to a toad-stool, did not enter into the
substance of her musings, so that 1t
was impossible for her to know that
from one of its tiny windows, half hid
den beneath shadowy caves, another
child looked out-a child whose eyes
were large and blue and plaintive,
with no warm lights in them, but like
pale stars.
She was looking straight at the win
dow where Ethel stood wonderlngly
and timidly. She thought that Ethel,
in her pale blue drapery, wrapped in
the soft, cloud-gray curtains, looked
like very angel; and her mind went
back to a year ago. She had never
seen Ethel look just in that way but
when Christmas was coming, and she
had watched her and watched for her
from her modest little covert very
many times-Christmas that marvel
Gus fairy day, that never forgot to
come to rich children once year, and
Santa Claus, so good and yet so par
tial. But the story and the day were
all legend to the poor child-Christ-
mas was like all other days to her, but
in her heart of hearts she was secretly
sure she could tell something about it
when she looked at Ethel's face.
She was strong-souled little crea-
ture, and yet she had her little wants,
her own little yearpings like Other
children. Older 1olks, she reflected,
could not understand why the world
was made as it was; then why should
she? But she could not help wishing
she had doll.
Once Andy Pell, her uncle, had giver
| her one, to be sure, but it was only
tallow, and as she rocked it by the fire
| one windy night, as her sister Christi
ana always rocked her baby, the TOW
hair caught fire. and the face became
so dreadfully changed that, although
she thought hard of herself because o
it, she never had the same affection
for it afterward, and so had given
away to very much younger child
who had begged her for it.
She was sure it would keep he
warmer of nights to have doll to car
about and hug up close. and why
was that her big sister Christiana ha'
a real, live baby that was not mucI
trouble. and she could not have even
doll, was the real puzzle of her exist
ence. She had prayed for it some
times, too, but it did not seem that
was to be, so she tried, then, all sh
could not to think about it Still, th
little girl was lonely, grieyously sc
sometimes.
And now Ethel disappears from th
window, and poor Elsie's dream {
poesv goes with her, and she strain
her eyes in an eager gaze, in the hop
that she will return; and ere long sh
returns and Elsie shrinks back with
great throbbing in her throat, for th
child in the big house is looking owe
at her.
Ethel's mamma had been watchin
, her from her cozy seat near the ope
fireplace. she too admired her prett
daughter, in her idyllic attitude, leal
ing so pensively against the embrasur'
but a twinkle of mischief lurked in BIZ
eye as she exclaimed quite suddenly:
i "a penny for your thoughts, littl
daughter?'
:, II was thinking of Santa Claus an
-and-oh, don't you know. mamma?
said she, starting and flushing.
Yes, l know, said her mamH
very quietly and softly. LET me 81
how old is my Ethel?n
why mamma, ten in June, e
i claims Ethel in surprise
.sTen years old, said her marnm
: glancing obviously downward
T fear have kept my Eth baby to
!, long. Tell me what there can be
such an odd, capricious, not-to-oe-d
e pended-upon parsonage SO to occuT
i NV daughters thoughts?''
e. ..Why, mammal cried Ethel, r1
g ming and playfuliy placing her har
9 upon her mothers lips. .Stop! Ism
. he the dearest, the best the merries
1- the-why mamma, not-to-be-depende
unonP What has DOOR Kris DONE