Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1912-12-11

Mrs. LOring looked down at the sweet
little face, and her own, so like it, grew
more sad than its wont
Il know it, dearie,' she said. when
your dear father was alive you were
been gone we have been SO poor that
Santa Claus feels that he did very well
to fill our stockings. Don't you remem-
Der the lovely stocking full of presents
you received last yearW
Bobbinel shook her sunny head dis
consOlately. 81 sure member it, but it
wasn't a tree, mother; and | would SO
much love to have a tree just like the
ones I've read about in my books"
Mrs. Loring smiled sadly at her small
daughters pretty conceit. BobbinePs
reading consisted of gazing at the
pictures in her little books and glibly
reciting from memory the stories her
mother had so often read to her.
"a Christmas tree would be perfectly
lovely" murmured Bobbinel as she
went back to her picture books.
''I'll try and see if | cannot get one
this year." unused Mrs. Loring, ''but
they do charge so fearfully for every
thing here in Highill. That's the worst
of living in an expensive suburb, but
did it for the best. l was sure that
could obtain more music pupils here
than in the city where there is so much
competition"
Edith Loring had done very well
since the death of her husband three
years before. Franks illness had been
a long one, and when at last he was
laid to rest beside the tiny grave where
Bobbinels twin brother rested there
was little money left for the young
widow and her child to start life anew.
She had kept her piano, and although
never a brilliant musician, she was an
admirable teacher and found many
young pupils in the pretty suburban
community where she elected to settle
with her little daughter. The cottage
they lived in was a tiny one on the
outskirts of the town and had been a
rather dilapidated affair, but Edith had
spent money. time and effort to trans
form it into a cozy nest for them.
ct seems a pity that l cannot pro-
vide a Christmas tree for the mite"
murmured Edith Loring as she bent
over her sewing. 81 wonder how | car
economic in order to save the amount.
Smith wanted 81 apiece for every tree
he had last year."
BObbinel still sitting on the floor in
the corner, was gazing intently at the
Mic Of Wv fO6
Christmas tree. Suddenly her brown
eyes opened wider and a smile curved
her lips She jumped up hurriedly.
Mother, dear, l believe I'll go out
and play" she said.
Bring your things in here, Bobbi-
mel. and be sure and stay in the sun
shine"
Presently Bobbinel skipped down the
path to the gate, dragging her sled over
the hard packed snow. She was a
pretty sight in her red cloak and knit
ted cap and leggings all of the same
diminutive hands
Next door to the Lorings' cottage was
the Moore place, a handsome brick
structure set in the midst of a park
like eXpanse Of undulating lawns and
wooded slopes. A grove of young Nor
way spruces dipped down to the stone
wall that divided the cottage from the
great place beyond.
BObbinel often played in front of the
Moore place, for the trees overhung the
high iron fence and shaded the side
walk in summer. while ia winter the
sloping walk made a very safe hill on
which a small girl might coast. The
Moore place was closed most Of the
time.
On this crisp December morning,
however, Bobbinel did not stop on the
sidewalk. She walked boldly through
the open gate and UP the driveway,
where there were tracks of horses
hoofs and ruts where a sleigh had pass
ed. By these signs Bobbinel knew that
the lonely gentleman who sometimes
occupied the Moore place was at home.
Now she glimpsed him walking
among the trees with a Gordon setter
at his heels. He was a tall, straight
figure Of a man with prematurely gray
hair and severe features. Bobbinel had
heard people speak Of him as Judge
Moore" and ''the judge" and she knew
that he was a person to be treated with
great awe and respect.
But Bobbinel Loring had always
found that stern faces sOftened at her
approach and harsh voices were tenn
pered when people spoke to her, and
because of this experience and also be-
cause she was blessed with the sweet
trustfulness OF innocent childhood,
she approached Judge Moore with more
of hope than fear in her heart.
Judge Moore always came down to
the old homestead when he had diff
dcult case to think over. Now he was
pacing to and fro on a little beaten
track his feet had made on the snow
under the trees. He enjoyed the still
ness Of the place, the pungent odor OF
the evergreens ano the crisp tang Of
the winter air. Overhead the sky was
clOudleSs and from the high trees back