Evening star., 1928-12-30

pottv red Jacket, for we'll he knows that
when Christmas has daWned into the
day after, he, also, will have passed on to
that road that leads to some inscrutable
place we only know as Where's"
When next Tuesday midnight comes
around, il you are not where bands are
jazzing or radios shouting out hosannas
to the baby year, 1t may be that your
Father Time. in compensation for a
loneliness that he may have caused
you by his duty to his scythe, will let
YOU hear, in the midnight silence the
faltering steps of the poor Old Yea:
dragging into the black unknown-and
if there is moonlight outside of your
open window, you will glimpse all the
old years waiting to receive him, headed
by Year One. And the poor old fellow
who has Just lost his throne Will
whimper to the others:
The world is welcoming that new
baby to it's breast, as they welcomed
me a little IL months ago-and they
have showed me off the earth"
They did the same to me" observes
Year One.
And to me-and to me"-echo the
others.
And then you -maybe-that
Father Time-eternally young and
kingly, with a scepter, instead of a
scythe--will place hand on the bowed
head of the decrepit year. You cannot
| hear his words, but, at sound OF his
voice, the old year straightenS into the
erectnesS of youth, and his mourning
| garment falls from him like the rags of
the beggar who became saint when he
died. And you hear the rhythm of
happy, onward steps that fit in at last
with the silence that makes no sound
which let's you know what Father Time
does to all the old years, but:
Where. do you suppose, all the past
Christmases go?"
BUSINESS is business, all right, and
~ it may be, as that efficient man
proclaimS, that youth should be started
early along some line of trade-but:
| If Mother Nature takes individual
note of her earth children, she must
have given sigh in behalf of one
small subject of work-beginnings-
though signing seems out of place on
Christmas eve.
| A half-grown boy was selling a
+, Christmas tree to a couple-not big
tree, as the man had to take it with
him. The trees stood in jungly row
against the wall of a corner store that
was doing such a rushing trade that
the proprietor had to let his young son
do the selling on the outside. Stand
ing alongside, watching the boy and his
customer, stood another boy-about T
who was SO afraid that big brother
would miss full results from the trade
in hand that he volunteered helpful
ness, as the man was making out the
change.
Mister dom you wanna buy a weaf?
We got WaafS inside"
The customer did not want wreath,
but he thanked the small boy with 4
ChriStmaSsy kindlineSs that inspired
him to make another thy:
Don you wanna hire SAMMY
Claus?-Nice red close an whiskers that
can't get on fire"
why, listen at that baby" the
interruption came from the woman with
the man. Why. don't you know that
Santa has to come down a chimney
all the way from the North Pole in a
sleigh pulled by honey?"
The tiny boy smiled business alert
ness:
| That's JUS a story-Ain't any real
SAMMY Claus--jus' ma b'leve."
| Oh, let up!"--admonishment from
big brother-"And give me papel
bag"
The small boy darted to pile Of
brown bags, and the elder brothel
slipped it over the base of the tree tC
make it easier for the mans hands
And that was all there was to 1t.
But to hear such sophistication from
$ mouth of milk lk-teeth-nost Of then
= gone-would have made dear old Moth
J. er Nature weep provided she take