The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1886-12-25
DAWES CHRISTMAS.
The Tender Story of Homeless Boys
Wanderings.

UAtneFeu AT snug SIrosldea.
From the Philadelphia Sunday Press
A cherries room in gloomy tene-
ment house-a room whose one dingy
window looked out on narrow, moi
some alley-that was Dawes home. A
slight boy of 10, with a pale pinched
face, out of which two great dark eyes
looked fearlessly, a boy whose clothing
was literally mass of rags-that was
Dave.
There was nothing in the room of
that neatness and cheerfulness that is
not frequently found even in the abodes
of poverty-all was forbidding, bare,
unhomelike. A mothers loving care
might have transformed even such a
room into the semblance of home,
but Dawes mother had died when he
was born and Dawes father was a
drunkard. What need to say more?
The rusty stove gave out no warmth
that bleak December day. With its
broken CRATE and litter of dead ashes,
it was but mockery of a stove-the
glost Of comfort. The keen North
wind ratified the dingy window and sent
little furries of snow through its broken
panes, but Dave was not thinking about
the cold. He was cold, of course, bit
terly cold, but he was used to that and
only wrapped closer about him the one
shabby quilt which served as covering
for the miserable bed.
All over the city, happy, weil-nour-
ished, tenderly cared for children were
thinking of Christmas joys, for the short
Winter afternoon was nearly gone and
Christmas Eve was close at hand. And
Dave was thinking of Christmas too
not with merry expectation of we'll
filled stocking, jolly holiday dinner, a
blazing Christmas tree, for these things
were unknown quantities in his brief,
joyless life-but of Christmas as the
birthday of the Christ Child.
The previous Sunday he had wan
dered into mission chapel in the
neighborhood, and the teacher to whom
he had been assigned-scarcely more
than a child herself-had told the six
ragged urchins who gathered about her
OF the coming Christmas, of the won
derful Child whose birth it commemor-
ated, and Of that glorious city with
streets Of gold, gates Of pearl, walls of
jasper and mansions of wondrous beauty
which the Child's hands would open
unto all who believed on Him.
Dawes quick imagination was fired
at the picture, and the teacher, pleased
at his eager interest, little dreamed of
the wild fancies and queries she had
set floating through the lads brain.
Why could he not go to the City Beau
tiful? In the long, hot summer he
could not, 60 to the cool, green fields
he had sometimes dreamed of because
he had no money, but the teacher had
plainly said that the poor as we'll as rich
could enter those pearly gltes, through
simple trust in the CHI. ist Child. If he
could only find the Child, then the
way would be easy, and surely he could
find Him IN the coming Christmas
time.
A heavy step on the STAIRS aroused
the little lad from his castle building,
but brought no gladness into his dark
eyes. Child as he was. he had long
since learned to know from his fathers
step whether or not some small meas
ure of comfort was in store for him.
That night Dawes father was IN a
drunken rage, and a, he nearly fell into
the room the boy drew back into the
shadow, hoping he might not be noticed
and that his father would throw himself
upon the bed at once. But the wish
was not to be realized.
"Dave r' called out the thick, brutal
voice.
The child did not answer, but cow
cred in his corner as if in anticipation
OF blow.
"Dave, you rascal, where are your
And where's the fre"1 with an oath.
"There was no wood dad," was
Dawes timid answer.
"No wood! Why didn't you find
some instead of sitting here like an
idiot1 Come here !"
dad, please don't beat me-" COM
ing forward, but the pitiful plea was
unheeded. A cruel hand seized the
boy, and blows, thick and heavy, were
rained upon the slight form till the man
grew weary then, kicking the boy
aside, he threw himself upon the bed.
Dave dared not move or cry, but lay
upon the floor, trembling with pain and
cold, till his fathers heavy breathing
told him there was not more to fear for
that night. And again the pearly gates
rose up before his eyes and the long
ing grew irresistible to find the Child
who should lead into the City, into its
peace and JOY. But where should he
go to find Him? On ihe street, per
haps, on that beautiful street where
great store windows were filled with
color and light and beauty; why might
he not find tine Christ Child thereP
Stealing dow the r;cke:y stairs, the
boy crept forth into the nigh. catching
his breath as keen blast pierced his
ragged clothes as if they were SO much
gauze. He faltered moment, then
bravely faced the cold, animated by
the hope that he would soon find the
Christ Child.