The true northerner., 1899-12-27

HIS SHOES.
for it would be futile. 1t was too late
for speculation. What good TO analyZe
the past for causes when the irresist-
ible, impending effect was upon him
when it had not only knocked at his
door. .'but had entered and stood wait
ing, beckoning and impatient?
The old year was going out. SO must
he, too, go out, like a big candle, but
whittier? What care does old Time
take of his children, the dead years?
Where do wearied souls find haven
when the clay which gave them tene-
ment is cold? He propped his back
with pillows and sat up in bed, staring
out the window into the falling gloom
of the short December afternoon, but
seeing not even the scattered flakes Of
snow banished from a few scurrying
clouds marking the winter sky with
swift changing formations. His
thoughts were introspective, but domi-
mating them all in gloomy monotone,
like the irreverent booming of a deep
toned bell marking Il sunken reef, tell
ing of destruction standing with jaws
agape, was that one he could not es-
cape if he would-he was done; he
was done; here was the end!
The barren room, i'll clad even for
that poor tenement, excited his disgust
as with long groan he came back to
his surroundings. 1t smelled evil, too,
like basement dive, for he had slept
there long-how long he hardly knew
and it reeked of his potations. He got
up unsteadily and, drawing on his
trousers, flung up window overlook
ing the street. The fresh, keen air
rushed upon him bitingly, but he SEEM
ed not to feel its sting Leaning far
out, he drank it eagerly. Lighted cars,
filled with home going people who
seemed gay, hurried past on North
Clark street, parkward. TO the runic
rhyme Of the cable, to the changing Of
the bells the gripmen gave voice in
warning or in greeting. Most of the
passengers carried little bundles. Some
of them held boughs or wreaths Of dec
orative evergreen. Tomorrow would
be the New Year. They were going
home. content. perhaps with good res
olutions. Going where? Home. Where
was his home? What was it? He shiv-
cred and, shutting down the window.
drew to the pile Of huddled clothes
which lay upon the floor beside his bed.
The door behind him opened softly,
letting in a shaft of yellow light from
the room beyond and it threw across
the floor, even to his feet, the shadow
nf Io
stood there, looking uncertainty into
the dusk where he sat obscured. his
eyes were still bent upon that sill
houette, picturing on the coarse mat
ting her waved hair, her fair outline,
all grace and dear womanhood, all his
the pearl he had won as prize in life's
tourney and flung away.
"Georgew his wife called gently.
"Are you getting up?"
He grunted roughly. for in truth a
new kindled emotion choked him, and
he would not trust his tongue.
AS If in echo Of his voice there came
from the lighted room the sound of
Gathering blocks and falling tin, n
swift patter of little feet and an eager,
childish treble crying out gleefully:
"Oh, mamma, is papa up?'
A boy of 6 years ran past his mother
and, with instructive seeking. like steel
to magnet, plunged through the semi
darkness straight into his fathers
arms with shout Of JOY.
The man cuddled him close. but be-
meath his breath uttered something
like another groan.
Santa Claus is coming tomorrow.
papa" the child said, and as the man
sat still, only hugging him closer, he
went on: Because. you know. he /
couldn't get here Christmas. he was so
busy. and there were so many poor