Five Mile Beach weekly journal., 1914-12-18

rowing Scots, to whom the
II. whole world is a patrimony. of
two old immigrants In the
highlands of Argentina who had left
The old world for the new so long ago
native tongue. But one Christmas eve,
when the shrill wind blew about their
windows and a silver veil about the
moon held a threat of snow to come,
they slipped back into the language of
the land of their birth and began to
put into words those endearing
thoughts which in all countries are
prefaced with do you rememberT'
Thus they recollected the day when
her hair was like spun flax and he was
a notable wrestler; the day when they
were married; the days before the first
of their children was born-the chill
dren who now had sought far distant
homes of their own. And do you re-
member said She, ''how In the old
land | put out my shoes one Christmas
eve to see what luck the fairies would
bring meY' = He remembered,
and-for they We're growing sleepy,
these old people-there was a long ST.
lence. Il have the shoes STILL said
she. And out of some drawer she
brought the wooden shoes TINT she had
worn on the Christmas eve when they
were betrothed. shall we put them
out again. she whispered. What's
the use?' said he. Perhaps it might
bring back-who knows?" urged the
old una And so before he raked
cautiously and set the two little shoes
on the threshold. = y y And when
the old people woke next morning he
went half expeetantly to the door and
presently returned rather ruefully.
"Look." said he. Here's all the luck
we've got" = > = The shoes were
filed with SNOW.
But that was not forgetfulness of
fortune. The gift that came to the old
people had reached them the night be-
fore. and presently you will guess
what it was. Their case is the case of
all of us-the young. the middle aged.
the old.
We each of us put out our shoes,
hang up u stockings. expectant of the
presents Santa Claus will bring and
forgetful of the truth of experience
that we are more likely to receive the
gifts we deserve than the gifts we ex-
pect. That Is not so, should not be so,
with the children. Santa Claus softens
the cynic regulation for them. and In
the hospitals let us hope that the thrill
of Christmas morn makes the jewellers
In the cots forgetful for a moment of
the trouble which has brought them
there. Indeed. it does, and even If you
filed their shoes with snow they would
find a welcome for 1t. Its cold and
slushy outside" said a visitor to a little
girl at the hospital. You're warmer
here" y y " "Ah, but" said she. Il
like the snow: I'd like to see it accom-
in down." Nowhere, indeed. is the
coming of Santa Claus so firmly believ-
ed in as it is in the children's wards
of the great hospitals. for there is
among the poor a simplicity Of faith
which tends to get worn thin under
circumstances when the round of hap
plucSS 10 uiOIc edSuy uItuludD1es
Content-perhaps that's the thing,
better than the cracker surprise, bet
ter than the first prize at the club, but
content is the hardest gift for the fair
les to bring. You hear of it in stories.
Even in the story of the Princess Glenn
entina, who loved the Chevalier Wo-
gan and knew 1t when he carried her
over the snowy stream, we are given
to understand that the lovers were
solaced in their parting because they
parted for duty's sake. But the prin-
cess, we know. died in a convent. and
her true lover died a lonely man. for
his princess never came riding into the
city of his dreams. But perhaps he
had something instead of content.
something which dies only with life it.
self. 1t is that which the old people
found in the shoes. You will now have
guessed what 1t was, and we wish you
all no better gift, for the 10Y was
hope.