St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1888-01-19
MISCELLANY.
A PEACE-MAKER.
BY KATE BRowNLEE HORTON.

Old Adrian Wynkert was never very
happy or gOod-natured, but he grew
| crOsser and more miserable the nearer
Christmas came. Perhaps he had rea-
son; certainly he thought so. l won
der what you will think.
Nearly twenty years ago he had
come from Holland to this country,
with his only son, Jan, merry, sun
ny-hearted fellow, who everybody
liked, and of whom Adrian was as
proud as could be. They intended to
go directly to Westveer, little town
in Michigan, where they had friends,
and where Mr.. Wynkert meant to buy
farm, which should be JAMS one day,
so, of course, Jan must look after it
and make it more valuable by cultiva-
ton.
But it happened that Jan did not get
to the farm at all. On the steamer
which brought him and his father from
Rotterdam came Janet Baird, a bonnie
Scotch girl, who had been gOverness in
the family of Scotch merchant in
Rotterdam, but who had decided to go
! and seek her fortune in that new world
of which she had heard so many mar
vellOus stories, and about which all
Holland seemed thinking. She could
speak little Dutch, and Jan could
speak little English-with not much
more of an accent than had pretty ia
net. He said "Kerk," and she said
EKirk," and nobody but themselves
knew how talking of their church led
them to think of other things than SER
mons that churches are made for
weddings for instance and speaking
of weddings in general reminded them
of one in particular ; and the old, old
stOry-that is ever SO new to some one
was told again as the ship went sail
ing over the sea toward that new home
that would be so precious since they
were to share it together.
But they were to sail over rougher
seas. When Jan told his father there
was storm tiercer than the tiercest
tempest and the angry words pierced
Janis heart like icy needles, sharper
than the north wind could bring. And
at last, when he would not break his
word to Janet, his father drove him
from him forever; saying he would
never again own him us son. And
when the steamer reached New York
the unhappy, disappointed father went
alone to Westveer.
When Christmas came Jan wrote to
him, telling him how well he was do
ing, how happy the little wife made
him, and asking if the dear father
could not find it in his heart to for
give them both OH that day of peace
and gOod will.
Mr.. Wynkert wrote neUer across the
letter and sent it back to Jan. And
the next Christmas came another let
ter, dated month before but that had
been delayed by snOwbound trains,)
written in Il strange hand, telling him
that his son had been killed suddenly
by an accident, and that the poor young
widow seemed dying from the shock.
And that was the last he ever heard.
Do you wonder now that he did not
like Christmas, or that he grew more
miserable each year as it came.
One day-it was the day before
Christmas this year-he was so partic-
ularly wretched and ill-tempered that
Martie (the faithful old servant who
had been JAMS nurse, and had followed
them from Holland) declared she
could not bear it; he must find some
one else to scold then she went out of
the room and did not go near him
again the whole evening. 1t was too
bad for he was ill i'll bed, and wanted
his medicine and supper, and his pill
lows shaken up, and the stove shaken
down, and hundred and one things
that Martie did so patiently, even
though he scolded her all the while she
was doing them.
1t was a long, dreadful night. How
glad he was to see the morning light,
even though it ushered in Christmas
that day of all days in the year which
he dreaded most. How he thought of
the past as he lay there alone for
Martie still kept away, and his rheu
matism would not let him get up.
At last there came a knock at the
door, and he cried "Come in ~ ready
to fire all kinds of angry words at Mar
tie for not coming sooner. But it was
not Martie. AS the door opened slow
ly, IA bright, young face, with laughing
eyes, and short sunny brown curls half
hidden beneath sealskin cap, peeped
in, and sweet voice said: "Good
morning, grandfather; and Merry |
Christmas
Forgetful of his aching bones old
Adrian started up in bed, crying al
most fiercely: "WhO are you that call
me grandfather 2"
"Jan Wynkert, your grandchiId,"
w
and doffing of the sealskin cap.
ooh if L had only known all these
years that my Jan left Il son." moaned
the poor, unhappy old man.
"He didn't. But it's not my fault
that Pm only a girl. | do the best |
can to make up for it," was the reply, as
throwing back the heavy ulster she
lnl lor
be boyish air that was irresistible.
you know" continued the girl, "but
she always calls me Jan it minds her
of the dear father, she says )" and there
was a pathetic little tremble in the
sweet voice that went straight to old
heart. But perhaps he was
ashamed of it, for he asked gruff1y
i'Where did you come fromf and why
did you come 7"
Observation-Disclosures Christmas,
grandfather and my mother thought
that may be you had no one to comfort
YOU"
"No !" Numbered the old man, "she
took my only son from me; and Oh
Christmas day, sixteen years ago,
came the tidings of his death while
she was left. Do you think that was
glad tidings p" Then his anger over
came him, and he fell back white and
The girl ran to him, and with water
and wine that her quick eyes discover
I'd on little stand 10y the bed, reviv-
ID him. In few moments he seemed
Ill right but someway he could not
speak angrily to "Jan" again. The
touch of her warm, soft fingers seemed