Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1890-12-25
a CHRISTMAS EPISODE.

q VhklNIMhN EplNUUh.
Translated from the French of Gustave Riyet,
Tor the REcoRD-uNIoN, by Mrs. n. E. White.l
A Christmas story?
Not at all: just a story-a story without
any dramatic episodes, commplace, or
binary occurrence, such as one reads almost
daily in the newspapers (more's the pityI),
and l will relate the fact simply, without
any establishment, just as it happened
yesterday morning.
1t was eight O'Clock and Paris had hardly
awakened; the stores were being opened,
but the cafes, where the reveillons, or Christ
mas eve Publications, had been held the
night before, were still closed; people were
Fastening to their various occupations, and
l, my cigarette between my lips, and feel
ing sprightly and good.natured, was walk
ing at lively pace in order to start my
blood into circulation, having been chilled
by the sharp, cold air. As walked COM
pared myself to those who. having passed
the night in dissipation, had then dull,
aching heads, and felt decidedly happy in
the enjoyment of my perfect health.
l took my way along the quays and my
eyes wandered from the Seine, with its yell
low, rolling waves. to the sky in which,
through pale mist, was shining the great
bright sphere of the sun, rising from the
gray background of the heavy morning
fog.
While going toward the Jta,lboawg Saint
Antonio saw at the street corner a solitary
yender setting up on little folding table
few tin playthiDgs, painted in coarse bright
colors. In the midst of these toys could be
distinguished jointed wooden man, which
by the mere pressure CT a spring, sawed a
log of wood with an energy and determin-
alton which seemed interchangeable.
Now, behind the lamp post near which
the peddler had stationed his wares, a
child came and stood before the table,
which was several inches higher than his
head. l was about to resume my walk,
when something in the expression of the
child's face caused me to stop.
He might have been five or six years old,
but was smaller than most children of his
age. He was one of those frail little Great
ures, born in misery and emaciated by the
bad air of their narrow garrets, and who,
from their delicate organizations. wear on
their faces certain sickly air of distinc-
ton.
The little fellow was as slender and pale
as girl. He was coarsely clad in sort of
blouse of gray, threadbare cloth, and wore
around his neck piece of an old red and
black wooden scarf. A few locks of his
long thin hair fell below his faded, ragged
cap.
In this costume the poor little lad was
not grotesque; on the con trary, he was
pretty, with his regular features, his white
skin-somewhat- rudy in the frosty air
and his eyes, SO large, so blue, so mournful,
with great dark circles beneath them. The
lids were red and heavy, and the biting
wind made tear roll down from the long
silken lashes.
1t was one of those heads of Greuze. but
with more delicacy in the coloring, more
sadness and supplication in the expression.
l watched him, but he did not appear to
see me; he was completely absorbed in the
contemplation of the toy display, and fol-
lowed with eager eyes the motions of the
wood sawyer, which the vender kept going
at furious rate.
Seeing the usefulness in the dropping
eyes of the poor little boy, my thou hts
suddenly reverted to my own darling child,
whom l had just left SO happy with her
doll in its new and gay attire. l could
still feel on my cheek the warm caress of
my Elise-already too large to believe in
the existence of a Santa Claus that comes
down the chimney-but so anxious, never
theless, for papa and mamma to play Santa
Claus, and so grateful and joyful at finding
plaything in her little shoe when she
! awokel
As my heart warmed with these ref1ec.
tons, drew near the child, saying:
They are pretty, aren't they?n
YES" answered he, with sigh.
Have you any at homer"
NO"
did your papa not give you any?"
The child made no reply.
Have you papa2"
"But you have a mamma2n
yes
The child answered thus in monosyllables,
without timidity, yet without boldness,
and gently without looking at me, his
eyes ever fixed with mournful intensity on
the bright-hued toy before him.
What does your mamma do?n oueried.
She works." he replied, in his laconic
but respectful tone.
Sat what?n
Making chairs"
where do you live?" asked, more and
more interested.
There" he answered, and with motion
of his head designated the distant suburbs.
Did you not put your shoes by the fire.
! pidtc last cfcuiLS! dSheu, VIII an at
| tempt at gaiety.
I'VE haven't any fireplace replied the
child simply.
"But your mamma makes a fire, does
she not?"
Yes, there is stove in the wall"
"Did you not put your shoes by the
stove?"
"Yes.i
and yet little Santa Claus did not
Gomez
'Ohl yes he didln
"Well, what did he give your
81 do not know"
why not. pray?"
Because did not see what it was. 1t
was lost"
Lost How was that"
sit fell through the holes in my Shoes
lowered my eyes and saw that indeed
his poor half-bare feet were almost through
his miserable worn out little shoes.
Then took from the toyman's table the
coveted wood-sawyer, and drew from my
pocket small silver coin, saying:
Here, little one
He looked at it timid and amazed, not
daring to understand.
take it." repeated, ''it is for you"
He manifested the establishment which