Norwich bulletin., 1909-12-15
A WAR TIME SANTA CLAUS.
By Grace King.

This is the best Christmas story have ever heard. heard it from one who was the mother of a little girl of five in the winter of 1863.
 T was in a refuge on a sugar plan- tation of lower Louisiana" she re- lated, "a place surrounded by swampS and. in it's forlorn isolation outside of all lines, belligerent or otherwise. I had not heard from my soldier hus- band for months, and I was suffering all the dreadful uncertainty that such fact could infiict upon the heart of a woman at such a time. Christmas was coming on; what a bitter mock cry, with it's scintillating memories of past fun, merriment, and family jovi- alitiesi
 "Do you think, mamma, that Santa Claus can find his way to the planta- tion?
 "I wonder if he can get through the lines.
 "sThey might shoot at him, and kill him. You don't think they would shoot at him, mamma? "1 wish he would bring me doll baby. doll baby, so much
 "But you have that beautiful one made you Gan ugly rag dolD.
 "'Yes, but she spoke confidential Iy. and sank her voice in a whisper, so that the rag baby could not hear her. want a doll can feel and she glanced sadly at the limp object on the bed at her side.
 "well, you have Jimmie Johnnie, I reminded her. You know you love him.
 "'Oh, yes!' and she clasped him tighter to her breast But she stop- ped and patted him tenderly. I knew what she meant. Jimmie Johnnie, aft CT all, wss only stone bottle, whose one feature. so to speak, was his handle, and she could dresg him only In a skirt tied around his neck.
 "She went on to tell me what she would name it, and all the pretty plans she was making for the new comer's future.
 Was I to tell her on Christmas morning that Santa Claus was shot coming through the lines? And her hopes and expectations, were they to be bhghted? Was her little heart to be rendered dolless, as some women's hearts were rendered childless, by hard fate?
 q forgot the confederacy in my shifts to remedy at least this one mis- fortune of the war.
 "The plantation carpenter looked at me dubiously as I spoke to him about 1t. He was preacher, as well as a maker of chairs and tables and cof- fins; he was afraid it was a graven image, and he shrank naively (not be- ing an artist) from the nude of it un- til I showed him the picture of Eve in @ Bible. He climbed up painfully and slowly through his scruples and many failures to the achievement of a wood en doll with two stiff long legs and arms, socketed in the shoulders Ca yer itable triumph this touch), and round ball of head with nose stuck like d peg in one sphere of it.
 T painted the fsce, although I had nothing but poke berries for rouge. I stuck some of my own hair on the scalp, but made a pretty sunbonnet as compensation for my sense of ill-suc- cess here, and I concealed the incur able defects of figure under pretty clothing.
 When the plantation was ringing its midnight peal and the angels. mean the negroes, started up their singing of hymns, I inserted the doll in the stocking hung with such fond expectations at the bed-post. By the light of the blazing log fire, the next morning I watched my little one slow ly rise and cautiously and fearfully creep to her stocking-when I heard her voice scream in tones broken by wonder and excitement, Oh, mamma he has got through the lines and he has brought me doll, a beautiful, real doll" I enjoyed the happiest moment I have ever felt on Christmas day"
 And I, too" added the little girl.- Golfers Weekly.