The Democratic advocate., 1907-12-20
Seleet Stnrp.
A FAIRY OF CHRISTMAS Joy.
BY JOSEPH |. ROCHE.
CHRISTMAS EVE.


Christmas Eve! How anxiously all
we're awaiting the dawn of the coming
feast. The winter wind whistled through
the chinks in the doors and windows with
loud, bowling noise, while little snow
flakes danced about like fairies clad in
silvery white garments. The song of the
angelic choir, which thrilled on the ali
eighteen hundred years ago, again touched
the heartstrings of human love, awaken
ing the music of peace and joy in every
Christmas household. The scene in the
busy streets of London was brilliant beyond
expression. Countless lamps were burn
ing in every shop window, throwing a
CHEEKY light around everything, and serv-
ing to dispel the foggy mist which was
sitting, like crown, on that vast nation
of London. The shops and thoroughfares
were crowded with eager men and women,
who entirely disregarded the weather; for
it was Christmas Eve, and it would not do
to remain home and make no Christmas
purchase. Some were carrying in their
we'll filled arms huge, heavy bundles OF
various sizes and dimensions, Christmas
presents from "Santa Claus to the large
and small pets of the family, while others
had large baskets, from which such deli.
cious odors issued that one was constrained
to imagine he was enjoying the aroma Of
"Araby the blest." Some few were emp
ty-handed, and these looked sad, indeed
for the keenest of all sorrow is, to have nc
cause for rejoicing when others are full OF
joy. In front ofone of the shop windows,
where there was gorgeous display Of
tops, marbles, dolls, fairies, oriental kings,
Eastern princesses, stood weary-lookine
man, rather tall, with an intellectual face,
and with eyes betraying fash Of intelli
gence beyond the ordinary. His face was
that of a gentleman, but his threadbart
clothes-patched and darned and faded
betrayed that dreadful form of poverty
which accompanies what we call business
misfortunes. As he gazed at these toys 1
tear stole down his cheek, but, brushing
it hastily away he murmured =
"Alas, not one for Dot-not one.
He turned and walked away, deep il
thought. Poor Arthur Dearcorn? Year
ago he had been accustomed to spent
Christmas at the houses of the nobility
and he was looked upon as one of the mos
fourishing merchants of London; but
bad business adventure and the signing o
notes for false friends had suddenly ruined
him, and he had to sell everything he hat
to satisfy his creditors. The sudden chang
from afiuence to poverty had broken hi
wife's heart, and year after the failure
she died of what physicians call genera
weakness, but what you and I, gentle
reader, know as the breaking of the heart
strings when, for the first time, one real
ICES the instability Of human affection
And so Arthur Dearcorp was left alone II
build up new home for himself and TO
his little girl of eight summers, whom h
used to call Dot, though her real name wa
Rose Margaret. She was one of thos'
children with dark hair and deep blacl
ewes, like rich violets in nosegay of roses
and bright, laughing face, who charm
| all those with whom they come in contact
by their winning ways. Her father idol
lied her; his every thought, his every wish
was bound up in her happiness, and 70
her comfort he bravely bore the icy treat
ment of his so-called Christian employers
who gave him miserable pittance for hi
constant seven days labor.
And tonight they had refused to pay
him because, by accident, he had bee,
late in the morning. They would Civ,
him what he had earned at the end of tn,
week, and not before. This unforeseen
treatment left him unable, for the frs
time in his life, to make a Christmas pres
ent to tiny Dot. She would go to bet
that night dreaming of Santa Claus
! and his goodness, and she would, childlike