The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1890-12-27
,rWAs AsCHRIsTMAs MORN.

There was fire in the fireplace o
the little red cottage over in the hol
low. But it was very small hre
scarcely enough for Stella to cool
the little breakfast required tor her
sell and her grandfather.
Grandpa kne. that the very las
stichof wood had gone to make tina
fire and the weather was bitter cold
with a heavy white snow covering
all the ground.
Then as she washed up the few
dishes and put them away IN the
cupboard, like the tidy little house
keeper she was, she said -
Grandpa, the meal is all out, ano
so is the meat.
And so is the money, my darling,
said the man with a smile, half sad,
half merry.
He sat moment silent in his
chair Sy the hreside, and then
added
And his Christmas week, darling,
and no work to speak OF to do, mol
like to be, as l know of.
Couldn't l do something, grandpa!
asked Stella, with a wistfull look.
You7 No, darling, not to do any
good, said the old man. with sigh
this time, and something like a tear
in his eye.
Then what shall we do, grandpa?
asked the child.
| don't know. I'll think, said the
grandfather, and then sat silent by
the fire again. Stella returned to
her duties.
Young as she was, fer over a year
little Stella had been grandpa S
housekeeper. She did not remember
her own mother, nor where she was
born, but she knew that her mother
was dead, and that Grandpa and
Grandma Devon had brought her
up.
There was a story which Stella
had never heard the brave old
couple hint at, which she did moi
know, but which was often in their
thoughts.
Stella's father was not dead. He
was Grandpa Devon's Oldest son
(the second son died in youth, and
there had been only the two), but
he had been bad, wild and rough
from his earliest days.
Their gentle, kindly influence
seemed TO have no effect on his hard
heart, and he only went from bad to
worse.
AT last, when S,ella was born,
weary and heart-broken, the young
wife died, and there was no longer
any restraint upon Ben Devon $
rude career.
He left his home, and his poor old
father, utterly hopeless of ever see.
ing him do any better, babe him
not return, but leave his child, and
they would care for and bring it ur
the best they could.
In his heart Ben Devon caref
little for the child, calling it :
troublesome kid, so it cost him nc
pang to leave it.
But Grandpa Devon knew tba
Ben was in manner prosperous
'pat he had Quit drinking, and made
some money.
ana now grandpa himself wa,
growing very old. He felt that hi.
health and strength were falling
rapidly and that very soon he woule
DC unable to work at all. Then, who
would take care OF little Stella =?
Ibis question was troubIino tb.
Old man night and day, and he wa,
making up his mind to do sometime
winch Tor himself he would neve
have done.
1T 1t must be done soon, at any rate
looa and fuel both were falling will
no prospect of work.
As the old man sat over the fire
he wa was thinking deeply.
~ When the sweet little housemai,
l''u done her simple round of duties
hron hnu was brushing back her golden
pr0wn curls, to make herself tidv
he said to her - ''uy
.,ss sselIa' ;. get the little chair, and $;
thee tn down here by me, | have slu soma >,
thing to tell thee, AA'e some
ing - AiS Sioe' say
" "nat ,h Is the matter grandpa? ?
bras.a as nere anything at all left from
breakfast, ga dearya asked the old old mon mon
. fse: ses' )! grandpa. Some bread 'aa,' an,
, r..' Enough for our dinner, if We ,.l
little little journey, to-day. Il We TAX
We les, es; grandpa, I think 50. Ar
Tho0s, m0s a !, very long one, dearv
dav r0ugh ,Sa it will take US more than than y
0'y' Wt the way we must 60. ''''n
Were are ua 49,: