The river press. [volume] (Fort Benton, Mont.) 1880-current, 1912-12-18

Nv ADobDAICl 4ASAAAAS ~ HN
cember day.
Mrs. Loring looked down at the sweet
little face. and her own. SO like il. grew
more sad than its won't.
Il know it, dearie," she said. "When
your dear father was alive you wer
too little to have one, and since he l. 5
been gone we have been sc poor tn J;
Santa Claus feels that he did very We
to fill our stockings. Don't you re3ie4.
Der the lovely stocking full Of p.csen.s
you received last year"
Bobbinel shook her sunny head dis
consolately. II sure member it, but 1t
wasn't a tree. mother; and would so
much love to have u tree just like the
ones I've read about III my books
Mrs. Loring smiled sadly at her small
daughters pretty conceit. Bobhinels.
PENDING 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.
"Ill try and see if l cannot set one
this year." unused Mrs. Loring, "Gut
they do charge SO fearfully for every
thing here in Highill. That's the worst
of living in an expensive suburb, but
I did it for the best. l was sure that
I 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
Bobbinel's 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.
ut seems a pity that l cannot pro-
vide a Christmas tree for the mite"
murmured Edith Loring as she bent
over her sewing. II wonder how l can
economize 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
colored picture of a gayly. decorated
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 q
pretty sight in her red cloak and knit.
ted cap and leggings all of the same
cherry hue wen to the mittens on her
diminutive hands.
Next door to the Lorings' cottage was
the Moore place, a handsome bricl
structure set in the midst of a park
like expanse Of undulating lawns ant
wooded slopes. A grove of young Nor
way spruces dipped down to the stone
wall that divided the cottage from thu
great place beyond.
Bobbinel often played in fro Mt of thu
Moore place, for the trees overhung thu
high iron fence and shaded the side
walk in summer, while in winter thu
sloping walk made a very safe hill or
which a small girl might coast. Thu
Moore place was closed most of tn,
time.
On this crisp December morning
however, Bobbinel did not stop on thu
sidewalk. She walked boldly through