Cameron County press. [volume] (Emporium, Cameron County, Pa.) 1866-1922, 1908-02-13


over the preceding week and the
week that comes after. For days and
days the Small Person sncaks into the
house with unnatural, unhealthy and
suspicious quiet, holding queer shaped
bulging packages under her coat or
smuggled away in the innermost cav
erns of her absurd little muif. The
paste pot appears everywhere in the
house. The paste brush disappears
entirely and is finally found in a state
of suicide and the ink-bottle You see
something on the floor that looks like
a cherry. You pick it up and it is
red paper heart. While you are look
ing at it the Small Person trots into
the room, gives you one mysterious
glance, Immediately separates you
from your treasure and scampers
away to hiding place under the din
1ngroom table, where she sits for three
straight hours in a billowy pool of
white paper lace, big white envelopes
and numberless samples of scissors.
Then. after these charming hours
of mysterious preparation, the great
day approaches. The mail man is the
Kris Kringle, the Santa Claus, the
good fairy. With bended shoulders he
plods down the street, while the Small
Person has her nose glued so tightly
to the window pane that there is con
siderable question whether or not it
will detach itself without the aid OF
q paper knife.
At last Hooray! The bell rings.
At imminent risk of catching every
thing from a cold to a spanking ,he
Small Person dashes out of the front
door and fairly leaps into the mail
bag.
She emerges looking like a young
stationery establishment, nothing but
envelopes, big, little and middle sized.
With squeal and a scurry she blows
back into the house and opens up her
treasures. There are paper trees filled
with brilliant paper roses, and be-
meath the forest trees sit little cupids
without no clos on at ALL" just as
If it were not February and chilly.
Great big, beautiful white swan cars
more beautiful even than a new au-
tomobile--are dragged out of their
white castings, and 10. when you touch
little spring somewhere the swan
cars are filled with flowers and all
sorts of wonderful, exquisite beautiful
things, like birds and jewels and low
ing hearts. Oh, it is very, very de-
lightful, being a child on ST Valen-
tines day.
While all this excitement is beating
the quiet home atmosphere into quiv-
ers You sit down in a far-away cor
ner and think of the time when you
were little girl. Perhaps you didn't
have as much attention as the Small
Person; perhaps things didn't some
how come your way-and perhaps it's
because you had so little that YOU
are ready to make any sacrifice so
that the Small Person shall have
much 1t is from deprivations that
you learn what good things mean and
how much they mean.
Somehow your mind goes way back.
SO far you wouldn't dare tell the
years You wouldn't even guess them.
1t seems so long aao that it must have
been another world, or anyway an
other life. You see dingy old school
room, where the benches We're fright
fully hard and where the clock was
so lazy it never moved its hands at
all The days were very long for a
little tiny child who should have been
romping and playing out of doors.
One day there came strange whis-
perings about St Valentine You won
dered if he were the man who came
to trim the trees in the orchard. 1t
was all very new to you, because
everything was new, and you had SO
much to get acquainted with in a big
strange world.
The other children talked knowing
ly about st. Valentines box. Next
day they filed in one after another,
and into a big wooden box they