The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1891-12-19

that ever memorable nlgnt the OUTLOOK Ior
the morrow's dinner was black indeed.
Our case was one that required desperate
measures. and as soon as she saw us safely
in bed. for at least the twentieth time that
day my mother summoned our servant Bina
Tchristened Sabina, and a supposed slave,
but in reality our sovereign mistress and
governor to council Of war. 1t was
long interview that came to our ears IN
fearful murmurings, causing my two little
brothers to stir nervously in their trundle
bed at the side of my fourpOster
Tom, the elder, aged eight, and famous
gluten, listened to it awhile, then proposed
a brilliant scheme for our next days din
ner. He thought it might keep ma from
crying She wouldn't look so pale then
and whisper so much to Bina. "If, he
went on, ''folks would only low it, we
might stuff Pete (poor Bina's pickaninny,
then in skirts and with no ambition beyond
ham-bag trousers and enough to eat) an
put apple in his mouth an bake him like
a 'possum. He's fat like one-or a pig
or"
He could get no further. Forthwith
| fell upon him, tooth and nail, with long
and proper sermon on cannibalism and
greedy children in particular, ending up
with the half-melancholy conclusion that
no matter what happened we could not
not possibly eat Pete. Before it was
finished, Tom had sunk to peaceful slum-
Der, and, with sleepy prayer that 'sisser
would call him when '.Santy Tlaus tumm-
ed, Jack, too turned over and was soon
wandering in land of dreams. For a
long time lay there, my eyes stretched to
their widest limit, looking idly through an
uncurtained window to where the bright
moonlight fell upon the naked branches Of
Il huge tree, to outline them afterward in
delicate tracery on the snow beneath
Jack had said that when Santa Claus
came it would be from that direction.
Just tinkling of sleigh bells and a
prancing of deer hoofs and old St Nick
would dash past that window, to drop, a
a moment later, down the chimney.
'St Nick, indeed r. thought I. "There' S
no Christmas for us, little jack and,
with great tightening at my throat, |
blinked my eyes freely and tried hard
not to cry.
Exit, darling, are you awake ?' heard
my mother say suddenly, and | looked up
to find her standing beside my bed, all
cloaked and bonneted for an outing. Then
kneeling beside me she continued, in low
voice, SOFAS not to wake the boys: "I've
got five hundred dollars, Kit; think of it
five hundred whole dollars Enough to
get tomorrow's dinner and some toys for
the boys, and other things besides"
And she snuggled my hand in hers and
smiled down into my amazed face, yet with
a wistful look in her eyes that belied the
cheerfulness of her manner; and somehow
those sad eyes seemed to plead with me to
ask no questions. did not. We only
held each others hands the tighter, and
exchanged one long and understanding
kiss She next explained to me that in
order to have our Christmas dinner it
would be necessary to go to market that
night; the stores would all be closed next
day. Bina must go, too. Would be
afraid to stay with the children while they
were away? They wouldn't be long
scarcely an hour
afraid Not l." was my proud
answer. For when, as she generally did,
my mother treated me as woman grown,
| tried hard to live up to the honor. How
ever, this night my willingness to comply
with her request came from no special
pride or bravery on my part seemed to
be in somewhat of dazed and non-com-
pretending state. After a month or
more of unusually short commons, during
which time the realities of our forlorn con
ditiOn had been painfully stamped on my
young mind, the genuineness of this
phantom five hundred dollar bill was
something too shadowy to be grasped,
Corn pone, bacon. and green's we had long
been glad enough to get, with just an oc-
casional treat of sorghum molasses to keep
US from forgetting the taste; and why,
now, should we be thus suddenly flung into
the arms of turkey? q suppose |
should have said wings
"And fruit cake, too, thought I quot
ing my mother.
''No, no, Kit Prescott, you've imagined
this You've just been lying here with
your eyes wide open, iancying all manner
Of ridiculous things. That was only a
dream mother standing at the bedside of
her little dream-girl, and she was not your
mother, and you are not her little girl, and
you will get no turkey tomorrow And
with this sorrowful reflection | fell fast
asleep.
The next morning, with the twittering
of the snowbirds outside my window
came the refrain Of familiar melody;
JEFF Davis rides white horse,
And Lincoln rides MULE
and from the resounding box and shrill
yell that followed | knew exactly what
had happened, Bina wasn't going to
stand any such nonsense She as no;
responsible for our manners and morals,
but Pete must be trained in the way he
should go, "Course I'll alters be er fas
fren' OBJ de fambly's no mattah how de wah
ems, she would say, ''but l isn't gwint
ter stan no nigger chile OBJ mine castin
'spersions on Marse Linkum's eac-ter."
Poor Bina She died soon after of the
measles, and is in heaven now, l hope
though she was light fingered at times.
But to return to my Christmas and
the dinner. Never did | have better
one. Never was there such a bursting
breast to another turkey; such grainy rice,
or such huge and mealy yams, all wrapped
in wet newspapers and baked in the red
hot ashes. Then with all these good
things; such draugbts of persimmOn beer
light and sparkling as champagne, pouring
out with gurgle and drunk with reeling
senses AT the very last, after the dessert
of fruitcake and hickory nuts, came tiny
nip of good old rye, just to help digestion
along, and toast-but | am anticipating.
At three o'clock sharp the feast was an.
nounced, and exactly one minute past, with
dramatic opening, it began. First, Pete