St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1902-08-20

had got him out of Mike Savin's sa-
loon and out of the clutches of Keefe
and Slayin and their gang of blood
suckers.
Keefe started up with curse. Bap-
tiste sprang to Sandy's side, slapped
him on the back and called out:
"You keel him! I'll hit ,(eaO him up,
me-"
1t looked as if there might be a fight
when harsh voice said in low, say
age tone:
stop your row, you blank fools!
Settle it, if you want to, somewhere
else"
l turned and was amazed to see old
man Nelson, who was very seldom
moved to speech.
There was a look of scorn on his
hard, iron gray face and of such set
tied fierceness as made me quite be-
lieve the tales had heard Of his dead
ly fights in the mines at the coast. Be-
fore any reply could be made the min
lister drove up and called out in a
CHEEKY voice:
Merry Christmas, boys Hello, San
dy! Comment ca va, Baptiste? How
do you do, Mr.. GraemeW
First rate. Let me introduce my
friend, Mr.. Conner, sometime medical
student, now artist hunter and tramp
at large, but not bad sort"
"a man to be envied," said the min
lister, smiling. 81 am glad to know any
friend of Mr.. Graeme's."
l liked Mr.. Craig from the first. He
had good eyes that looked straight out
at you, clean cut, strong face, we'll
set on his shoulders, and altogether
an outstanding, manly bearing. He in
sisted on going with Sandy to the sta
bles to see Dandy, his broncho, put up.
Decent fellow" said Graeme; "but,
though he is good enough to his bron-
cho, it is Sandy that's in his mind
now"
"Does he come out often? / mean
are you part Of his parish, so to
speak"
hdNC lO uOuDL hC l1l1uho SOy lllu
I'm blowed if he doesn't make the
Presbyterians Of us think SO too" And
he added, after a pause: "a dandy lot
Of parishioners we are for any man.
There's Sandy, now. He would knock
Keefe's head off as q kind of religious
exercise, but tomorrow Keefe will be
sober, and Sandy will be drunk as a
lord, and the drunken he is the better
! Presbyterian he'll be, to the preachers
disgust" Then, after another pause,
he added bitterly: But it is not for
me to throw rocks at Sandy. am not
the same kind Of FOOL but am a fool
/ of several other Sorts"
Then the cook came out and beat
tattoo on the bottom of a dishpan.
Baptiste answered with a yell; but,
though keenly hungry, no man would
demean himself to do other than walk
with apparent reluctance to his place
at the table. At the farther end of the
camp was big fireplace, and from the
| door to the fireplace extended the long
| board tables, covered with platters of
turkey not too scientifically carved,
dishes of potatoes, bowls Of apple
sauce, plates Of butter, pies and smaller
dishes distributed at regular intervals.
Two lanterns hanging from the roof
and a row of candles stuck into the
wall on either side by means Of slit
sticks cast dim, weird light over the
scene.
There was a moments silence, and.
at a nod from Graeme, Mr. Craig rose
and said:
81 don't know how you feel about it,
men, but to me this looks good enough
to be thankful for"
Fire ahead, sir" called out a voice
quite respectfully, and the minister
bent his head and said:
"For Christ the Lord, who came to
save u.s. for all the love and goodness
we have known and for these thy gifts
to us this Christmas night, our Father,
make us thankful. Amen"
"Bon! OATS fuss rate" said Bap-
tiste; "seems lax OATS make me hit
more better or sure"
And then 10 word was spoken for a
quarter of on hour. The occasion was
far too solemn and moments too pre-
cious for arrthing so empty as words,
but when the white piles of bread and
the brown piles Of turkey had for a
second time vanished and after the last
pie had disappeared there came pause
and a hush Of expectancy, whereupon
the cook and cookee, each bearing aloft
a huge, blazing pudding, came forth.
"HoorayT yelled Blaney. up wild
ye! And, grabbing the cook by the
shoulders from behind, he faced him
about.
Mr.. Craig was the first to respond
and, Selling the cookee in the same
way, called out:
Squad, fall in Quick march"
In q moment every man was in the
procession.
Strike up, Batchees, We little angel!'
shouted Blaney, the appellation a con-
cession to the minister's presence, and
away went Baptiste in rollicking
French song with the English chorus:
"Then blow, We winds, in the morning,
Blow, we winds, ay OH
Blow, We winds, in the morning,
Blow, blow, bloW!"