Evening star., 1921-12-25

day. l remember when l was nine
years old-although every Christmas
for every boy in my youth was just
one blur of butternut -colored suits
of homespun. all alike-the real sur
prise 1 got on that day When 1 found
my new suit waiting for me to put
on. We boys invariably got a suit
and a pair of shoes or boots made by
the crossroads shoemaker. The sur
prise came because I knew the vast
amount Of labor required to make
that suit. and I had not seen the good
mother at work upon it, so l supposed
I was not to have one.
'The good mother had worked for
weeks by dim candle light far into
the night, to prepare suits for me and
my brother. She spun the wool and
wove it on a primitive wooden loom,
colored it with butternut juice. which
made a good substitute for indigo, but
was pretty yellow. With these suits
were thick wooden stockings home
spun and knitted by the same good
mother, with love in every click Of her
needless So each, boy had complete
pioneer suit, and 1T was received with
more real joy than any tailor-made
suit costing 500 would be received
today. In other words, it was not
only appreciated because it was useful
and warm, but 1t was doubly appre-
ciated because we knew that the
good mother had spent many hours
to hor
love into each garment preparing
them as a Christmas surprise. Those
oddly colored> suits, sometimes ILL
fitting, were worn as royal raiment,
because mother had made them.
'In the early morning our clumsy
new boots, creaking in the crisp snow,
we set off for church, spelling each
other at pulling the sled. We went
to the Quaker meeting house, about a
mile and a half from the crossroads
town, in the Wabash country of west
ern Indiana I had q birthright in
the Friends meeting, both of my par
ents being Quakers, but the Metho-
dist preacher abounded, and when
the roads were passable the country
folks fiocked to the crossroads church
with sleigh bells jingling and lam
terms cleaning dimly across the snow,
The most of the people went to the
church meeting in the schoolhouse.
but we plodded along to the Friends
meeting.
'aThe story of that Christmas would
be only part told without the layout
Of three fine big wild turkeys roasted
by mother before the big log fire.
place. The day before had gone of
in the woods with my older brother
to get them Later I killed many a
wild turkey for the Christmas feast
but that year I was not old enough
to kill, but was sturdy enough to
lug the biggest one home in triumph.
In those days wild turkeys and quail
abounded-now all that is passed
"a butternut-coloreds suit still looks
mighty good to me in memory-and
they have lost the fine art of making
homespun."
T TNDER the caption. my Christmas
- Orange" Miss Alice Robertson OF
Oklahoma, the only woman in Con-
gress, sketches. in g. drab back ground
Of suffering and hardships, her Christ
mas picture Of the past, but brightens
lit with touches Of the true spirit OF
the day. Her story is of a missionary
family among the Indians and points
Ia moral:
christmas, 1882, found my mother
and me living beside the ruins Of the
large brick mission building where a
hundred Indian children had had a
happy school-all scattered now, as
was our family, following my fathers
death after the fire." Miss Robertson
recallA
Mother and had planned g. Christ
mas tree for the Indian neighbors, but
three nights before hundreds Of armed
horsemens had suddenly appeared
through the darkness of the quiet
night and we knew that a rumored
tribal war was on. We were not
afraid. for no Indian would ever harm
L. mission family. but for us Christ