Saint Mary's beacon. [volume] (Leonard Town, Md.) 1867-1983, 1891-12-24

streets causing us more than one
pang. But, alas, there came a day
when everything vas gone-not so
much IS a rag Of millinery or salt
spoon left to ssn. No, not quite
everything: for III a dingy old trunk
in mr. mothers closet a priceless
treasure lay--a wonderful thing
with . fabnlous train, point-lace
gimp and huge angel sleeyes, smell
ling much Of lavender and little
Of musk, and all tieketed and label.
led ..For Kit on her wedding
day. AndS, Miss Catherine Cal
honn Prescott ialias Exit. and
aged nine), felt vastly important at
the sight of that label.
Another emotion stirred my be-
ing when | touched those fast-dis-
coloring folds of satin--one Of rev.
erence, that at the sight OF a knot
OF dead orange blossoms turned into
awe; for, it seemed to me, il was
indeed holy relic, something to-
be put aside and worshipped in our
family for generations to come.
But that bitter Christmas Eve of
'64 there vas no thought of this
treasure in my mind. Ny little
brain was busy with more prosaic
things, and first and foremost in
my reveries came the recollection of
once-confiding but now stony
hearted green grocer who had shut
down on us with an iron hand.
True, we still had a decent roof
over our heads and enough hickory
logs to keep us warm, but these
were not eatable things, and our
larder was as empty as the old Ia
dy's in the nursery rhyme. There
was not a scrap of credit to be had.
Those wise butchers and bakers had
learned thing or two. They were
not for trusting hungry refugees for
the balance of their days Oh no,
not they So thus it was that on
that eyer-memorable night the out
look for 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 christened Sabina,
and supposed slave, but in reali-
ty our sovereign mistress aud gov
ernor to q council OF war. 1t was
long interview that came to our
ears in fearful murmurings, caus-
ing NY two little brothers to stir
nervously in their trundlc bed at
thl side of my four-Postcr.
Tom, the elder aged eight. and
a famous -gIUtton, listened TO it
awhile, then proposed a brilliant
scheme for our next days dinner.
He thought j, 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 10 ambition beyond
ham-bag trousers and enough to
eat) an put an apple in his mouth
an bake him like 'possum. He's
fat ike one-or pig-or-''
lie could get no further, Forth
with | fell upon him, tooth and
nail, with long and proper sermon
on cannibalism aud greedy children
in particular, ending up with the
half-melancholy conclusion that no
matter ichaf happened we could not
possibly eat Pete. Before it was
finished, Tom had sunk to a peace
ful slumber, and, with a sleepy
prayer that ''sisser" would call
him when "Santy Tlaus tummed," )"
Jack, too, turned over and was soon
wandering in land OF dreams.
For q -ong time ! lay there, my
eyes stretched to their widest limit,
looking idly through an uncurtain-
ed window to where the bright
moonlight felt upon the naked
branches of 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 moment
later, down the chimney.
.St. Nick, indeed - thought |.
"There's no Christmas for US. lit
tie jack and with a great tight
ening at my throat, | blinked my