Friday, December 18, 1925
HIGH LIFE
Page 7
A MIRACLE
By Glehn Holder
Chapter I
The typical 6:00 P. M. Elm Street
crowd rudely jostled the man and little
girl w’ho stood engrossed in the doll dis
play in Meyer’s window.
“Daddy, look at that one dance,” the
little golden haired maid cried, as the
mechanism inside the doll w’as wound up
and the waxen figure began to gracefully
sway and trip. “Reckon if I was to be
real, really good Santa would bring it
to me?” wistfully she queried, clasping
his hand tightly and looking up into his
face.
“We'll see, darlin’. Maybe, just pos
sibly, he might”, he hesitatingly said, a
shadow of pain darting over his face as
he noticed the .?12.50 price tag on the
doll in question.
Chapter 11
It is Christmas Eve in Greensboro. The
pushing, shoving throngs of last minute
sho})pers surge up and dow'n Elm street.
Most of the faces are merry, but occas
ionally a hint of tears may be seen in
])ained eyes. Tlie roar of automobile
traffic is continuous, never ceasing. Sting
ing particles of sleet beat into the faces
of the crowds. A juicked Pomona street
car bowls along on its way to the safety
zone at the square, where other home
bound passengers will wedge into its
interior. Blue fire flashes from its trol
ley as it cuts through the caked ice on
the wire, and a flat wheel thumps an ac-
comi)animent to the throb of tlie pulsat
ing life of the city.
Inside the i)awnshop Bedeman, the
paw'n broker stands with his back to the
glowing stove, as if to give warmth to
his shriveled soul. He chuckles glee
fully in his beard. ‘Much moneys I make
today. The fools; they ])awn their souls
to buy things to give away.’'
The door opens, and in walks the fath
er of the little girlOf the golden locks.
He takes off his overcoat and extends it
to Bedeman. How much on this?” he
queried.
“Oh, now% let me see. Xot ver’ much.
P’raps ten dollars.” He considers, and
sees that he has the stranger by the
chin whiskers, so to sj)eak.
Any man w’ho would juiwn his over
coat must be compelled to have money.
“But you mus’ pay five dollar penalty
'veil you come to redeem it.”
“Make it twelve dollars and a half and
I’ll give you anything,” the man des-
])erately cries. “Dorothy must have that
doll.” Bedeman takes tlie coat and pass
es over the $12.50, taking down the man’s
name and address. He goes out the door,
shivering as the cold bites through his
tliin clothing and penetrates to his body.
Bedeman returns to his complacent
chuckling before the stove.
Chapter III
Tlie chill winter wind rushes into the
jiawnshop as the door is again opened.
Bedeman rubbing his hands together ad
vances to meet the man who comes in.
“More moneys!” he exults to himself.
But he hesitates, jiauses. There is some
thing different about this man—Bede
man stares at him, jiuzzled. He is big,
and strong, and virile with tlie healthy,
red-blooded life of the out-of-doors world.
A magnetic something flows out from
him. Bedeman meets his eyes, and
slirinks within himself. Those eyes!
Where has he seen them before? They
are omnipotent, pierccing through heart
and soul, yet kindly. Ah, he has it. They
are the eyes that have stared out at him
from that strangely attractive painting
in the public library. It is called Jesus
of Xazareth. That is the name he has
often heard the Salvation Army shout
from the curb to the street crowds.
He stands silent, for several seconds
that seem like ages to Bedeman, staring
into the pawnbrokers soul, reading the
selfish life that is recorded therein. Bede
man shrinks within himself.
Then He speaks. “Give me half of
w'hat thou hast.” A violent, soul-rack
ing struggle shows in Bedeman’s face.
His body trembles with the intensity of
it. His greed is doing battle with the
something in those eyes. Then, like a ray
of sunshine through black storm clouds,
a light shines forth, and breaks over his
face, making it radiant. Without a w’ord
he goes to the cash register and hands
its contents to the stranger.
He silently takes the money and van
ishes. A great peace and warmth sw'ells
THE STARLIT TRAIL
TO RETHLEHEM
By Margaret Ferguson
The stars o’er the trail to Bethlehem
looked dow’n from their lofty height
And beheld a group of shepherds, who
watched their flocks by night.
And suddenly, in the midst of the stars,
angels began to sing,
“Arise, oh Shepherds! In Bethlehem
awaits the newborn King!”
Then the shepherds fell in reverence, with
faces bent to the ground
While lieaven and earth received with
joy, the tidings that He was found.
And the bright stars saw the shepherds
arise and leave their flocks by night
And hasten away to Bethlehem to find
the King of IJght.
Again the stars looked down from above
and .saw in the .soft dim night
Moving afar in the distance a mystic
band of white.
Slowly this band drew nearer, tliree cam
els three men did bring
Wlio liad left their far away homes in the
east to search for the ])romised King.
These men were called the wise men and
they had followed a star
Which shining more brightly than all the
rest had guided them from afar.
And costly gifts from a distant land to
the babe they lovingly bore
(For gold and frankincense and myrrh
were the richest among their .store.)
The stars smiled gently upon these men
wdiile they sent their light from above
For they knew tliat the child whom the
w’ise men souglit was the wonderful
son of I>ove.
And high o’er the trail to Bethlehem their
watch they silently kept
While far away in a stable stall the in
fant Christ-child slept.
liedenian’s soul, shrunken these many
years, back to normal size. And then he
understands. For the first time in his
life, he has Given.
Chapter IV
Dorothy has gone to bed. Her father
and mother are decorating the little fir
tree in the neat, spotless shabby living
room with gay home-made streamers of
brightly colored paper.
“Did you .see her face.^” the father
whisiier.s, taking a beautifully realistic
doll witli a $12.50 price on it out of a
long paste board i)ox. “She was so ex
cited and kind of afraid as I tucked the
covers about her. She said ‘Spose Santy
forgets my doll ?' ”
A knock sounds on the door, and Dor
othy’s mother opens it. Bedeman, the
overcoat across his arm, steps in. Here’s
your overcoat, friend,” he says, extend
ing it to the man. “You don’t owe me
anything.” Amazed, he hesitatingly takes
it.
The two men sit down before the fire
and talk together for a long time, re
vealing new truths to both. “Friend, do
somehting for me. I.et me be here when
the little girl gets up in the morning.
I have never seen a child’s eyes when
it first sees what Santa Claus has left
on Christmas morning,” Bedeman wist
fully requests. Dorothy’s father glad
ly assents.
Then Bedeman goes out and returns,
his arms full of packages. Leaving them
he goes out again. All through the cold
night he goes about the sleeping city,
searching out the poor sick, the needy,
anyone to whom he can Give. Just be
fore dawn he returns to Dorothy’s house.
He is watching from behind a curtain
when she rushes into the living room.
With a delighted .squeal she grabs the
doll up into her arms, her face lit with
an unearthly happiness. One look is
enough for Bedeman. He bolts out the
door, a “joy that surpasseth all under
standing” in his heart.
Returning to his boarding house, he
sinks down upon his bed as the first dim
rays of the Christmas dawn penetrate in
to his room. He’s happy with a happi
ness that is so intense it is almost pain
ful. He has found the Christ, and for
the first time he understands the true
meaning of CHRISTMAS.
At Christmas play, and make good cheer,
For Christmas comes but once a year.
—Tusser.
THE LAST NEWS
PAPER
By I.K3UIS Br(K)ks
The great clock in the hall of an Irv
ing Park mansion boomed four. From a
room above came the sound of voices in
earnest consultation. On a bed lay a
youth with one leg in splints; at his side
was an anxious-faced man.
“Much hurt?” the man inquired.
“I don’t think so, but how did it hap
pen ?”
“Well you see you stepped into Davie
Street just as we rounded the corner.
We tried to stop but the street being
slick we skidded and the result is as you
see.”
“Lawyer to see you,” a voice from be
low announced.
The moment the man passed from tlie
room his pleasing manner changed.
“If the brat is bad hurt I may get into
the deuce of a fix,” he muttered.
Two hours later found the man again
at the i)oys liedside; in fact he had been
there ever since tiie departure of the
lawyer; and in that time he had heard
a story that had shaken tlie whole found
ation of his life; a story of self-sacrifice
and self-forgetfulness that sounded very
strange to him.
“Gee, l)ut it was great to see how
haii]>y my brothers and sisters were,” the
boy was saying. Mother was ha]ipy too,
excejit when she tliought about me, with
no ]iresent, but I told her not to worry,
that I was haiipy.”
“What! No })resents?” demanded the
man.
“Well, you see, there wasnt‘ enough
money to go around, and the otliers
being younger, of course, it went to get
a horn apiece for them.”
“But don't you make money selling
])a])ers?”
“Yes, but I use that to buy something
for mother.”
“And you told your mother you were
liappy without any })resents?'’
“Yes.”
“But what was tliere to make you
hajipy?”
“I don't know. I reckon it was liecause
the others were so hajijiy.”
“What! happy because others were
ha{)])y?” 'I'o this man whose whole life
had been centered on self, wliose only
desire was to acquire wealth and com
fort, .such a thing .sounded preposterous
He thought of the ])rayer he had sent
up to his Maker, tlie previous night:
“God, I thank Thee that I am not as
one of tliese who beg on the streets, or
as those newsboys, who scarce have cloth
ing to cover them. And (Jod, I thank
'I’hee that I have wealtli and plenty.”
Now he pondered the question. Was
lie thankful that lie was not as this news
boy who could have the Christmas spirit
without receiving gifts, who could deny
himself that he might give to others;
who could be liapjiy because others were
hajipy?
A change had come over him during
that hour’s conversation. He found him
self quoting the Scriptures, “A little
child shall lead them.” Was he letting this
youth change his whole life? For years
he had hoarded, forgetful of all save
self. Was he now’ through the influence
of this boy, to alter his code of living?
“Get what you can and let others shift
for them.selves,” had been his creed.
Another verse came to his mind. “It
is more blessed to give, than to receive.”
Again the great clock in the hall
sounded. The hour was ten. Upstairs
the man was just leaving the boy’s bed
side. Both their faces were radiant. The
man had just finished outlining his plan
for aiding the needy.
J'hat night when he addressed himself
to his Creator he prayed thus—
“God, I thank Thee that there are
such in this world as this newsboy, who
has this day show’n me a higher life, who
has taught me that it is more blessed to
give than to receive.”
One wonders w'hat Christmas means to
the other fellow. To children it is Para
dise tran.splanted, but men and women
view it differently. To some it is a time
for love and charity; to others a time
for envy and di.scontent. To some it
brings the jubilation that came finally to
old Scrooge; to others it brings bore
dom. —I. E. Avery.
It is more blessed to give than to re
ceive. —Acts 20:35.
MEMORY PICTURES
IN ITIE FIRE
By Mklkne Burroughs
Outside, .softly, caressingly, fell the
snow, mantling the w’cary world in a
garment of radiant purity; over the city
liung a brooding silence, a silence brok
en only by the faint echoes of a distant
church bell as it carolled the holy Eve.
Inside—Alone I sat by the w’arm open
fire mechanically w'atching the sparks
jilaying merrily up the chimney. It w’as
good to w’atch them chase each other.
It gave me something to think about. It
liel])ed me to try to forget w’hat Toby
had said as I tucked him and Jack in
bed a few' minutes before. “Sis, wdll
there be a tree in the morning?”
Suddenly the to])most log nestled down
between the other tw’o and sent more
s])arks chasing faster and faster up the
cliimney. They scampered over each
otlier with so much glee, that they join
ed into a chain not unlike an endless
cord of tinsel, 'i'liey reminded me of
Christmas trees instead of making me
forget. Brighter and brigliter the fire
jdayed and from tliis gleam-fire yards
and yards of tinsel seemed to leap uj)
the chimney to meet Santa.
A blazing siilintcr curled out, liroke off,
and dropjied into the glowing coals, and
there I saw’ the little fir tree hanging
with tinsel and tiny red and gold balls.
I W’as a child again. I w’as jx'cping thru
the nursery keyhole—Mother and Father
w’cre bedecking the tree with toys and
many tiny jiackages. Back to my bed
I scamjiered as Mother started towards
my door. I heard w’hispers from the
adjoining room as I dro])])ed off' to
dream of fir trees and beautiful toys. It
seemed as thougli T slept only a short
time when I heard a loud whooj) followed
by cries of joy. Ju.st then Dick burst
into the room w’ith his arms heaiicd with
toys, and not far behind came Jack and
'I’oby inilling an exjiress w’agon. I
jumiied out of bed and ran to the tree
to find one of the prettiest little w’atchcs
that I had ever seen with a card bearing
my name. All that day was a round of
joy for our wliole family. Every one
was hajijiy—Mother, Dad and all five
of the boys.
Tlie flames of the yule log died aw’ay,
and with them the bright iiicture of six
Christmases back. I sat staring into the
graying ashes, unconsciously listening
to the taj), taj) ta])j)ing of the bare
tree branches against the window jiane.
I shivered. 'I'he room was chilling and
the dead silence broken only by the reg
ular taps on the ])ane, was unbearable,
but on and on my memory went and
(pdckly passed the following springtime
of lovely sunshine amid flowers. In the
sombre coals one and only one jiicture
formed itself among the jagged lines
made by the dying embers. It was a
j)icture of the loneliness of that first year
after God called our beloved mother.
'I'he world seemed bare and bleak; our
family went around heartboken; nothing
seemed worth while any more. Every-
thing .seemed to have lost its luster and
seemed to be out of tune. 'I'he days
dragged slowly by until Christmas came
again. But this time there was no
laughter or merriment in our home. As
I tucked the little boys in I remember
tears came to my eyes—and I busied
myself to keep from crying. Again there
was a tree but the tinsel would not hang
gracefully, the star refused to stand up
straight on the tojimost bower and ev
erything went wrong. Finally F'ather,
Fred and Billy came in to hel]) me and
things ran a little smoother. After
many futile attempts we managed to dec
orate the tree and arrange the toys.
Next day was one of the longest, sad
dest days I have ever sjient. Each mem
ber tried to cheer the other one up and
we did not succeed very well. 'Ifiie very
thought drove a shudder through me.
But suddenly the log collapsed and
thoughts were lost in efforts to rebuild
the yule fire. Again I .settled myself
before the flickering blaze trying to gain
courage to go to work on the ugly,
.straggling little tree in the basement.
Jack did his best to get a pretty one,
but fir trees were not pretty any more.
I dreaded to see it. No fun seemed pos
sible from trying to deck a tree all alone.
Fred was gone to .spend the holidays with
a college friend. Dick had a job that;
kept him out until midnight. Billy had
taken a hunting trip and had gone back
home to see his people.
SANTA’S SHOP
Dolls, marbles, games, balls, veloci-
jiedes and various other toys, dear to the
hearts of little children, are found in
Santy's toy shoii. 'I’hrough the labors of
elves, nymphs and fairie.s, millions of
toys are turned out every day. Santa
Claus only superintends the work, spend
ing most of his time reading quaint little
notes, written to him from boys and girls
all over the world. Perhajxs he is the
most ])opular man on earth, receiving an
unimaginable amount of mail, every year
around Christmas time. Smilingly
l)leasantly, the dear old man reads them
through, selecting all tlie toys that each
child wishes.
A rather jolly, good natured old lady
tags the playthings, with decided care.
It is this same old woman wlio makes
such dainty, little doll dre.s.se.s. Of course,
you don't know her. She is our old
friend’s wife, Mrs. Santa Claus.
At twelve o'clock, on every Christmas
Eve, Mr. and Mrs. Santis Claus gather
up the toys and load the sleigh. With a
wave of his hand, Santy and his helpers
leave her, on their journey to sjiread hap-
pine.ss over all the world. All night they
work with sjieed and pleasure, leaving
no .shoes or stockings unfilled. By dawn
they have finished, and with a ringing
of sleigh bells and a gallo])ing of rein
deer, dear old Santa Claus, smiling and
waving, leaves the slee])ing world, not
to return again for a year. Toy-making
begins anew and Santy eagerly awaits
his return the next Christinas time.
GREENSBORO’S CHRISTMAS EVE
OF 1850 CONTRASTED TO 1925
(Continued from page 5)
are gaudy, colorful Christmas decora
tions. Every sho}) window is crowded
with beautiful, wonderful gifts. ’i'he
stores are ])acked with belated buyers,
feverishly, eagerly searching for suit
able gifts. 'I'he great tenqiles of com
merce are reajiing a bountiful harvest
of silver and greenbacks from the urge
of mankind to give at Christmas, and cash
registers continually ring.
Electric trains, jicrfect miniatures of
the crack fliers on the railroads of the
nation, yi'hir around their shining metal
tracks with flaming headliglits and
brightly illuminated cars. Beautiful
dolls with real hair and moving eyes rest
on counters. Some have mechanism.s in
them which makes them dance or walk.
Some wail like real babies. Multitudin
ous are the otlier marvelous toys and
])laythings that cover the counters and
shelves.
Christmas prejiaration saturates the
scene, but it is a rushing, whirling, hur
rying sort of thing that lacks something
of the i^cace and reverential air that
characterized the Chri.stmas Eve of 1850.
I knew I couldn't manage things by
myself—yet Father and the boys needed
a vacation—oh, why couldn’t something
happen to take all this resixmsibility off
of me? Maybe it would have been best
if the house had burned down years ago
and all of us cliildren had been sent to
an orjihan asylum.
“Fire! Fire!” I shouted as I sprang
u]i. “Oh, how crazy I am: that’s only
the door bell.”
I ran to answer the summon and in
walked Fred. “I just couldn’t stay away
on Chrlstma.s, Sis,” he said. I choked
back the tears, and we started in to
make things nice for the little boys.
As we worked—first on the tree—then
stuffing the stockings, we talked and
laughed. 'Then the bell rang again.
“Maybe it’s a special delivery or some
thing,” I .said. But it was Father. He
told us he couldn’t stay away on Christ
mas.
A little later Billy came and .said the
same thing. “I knew you would need
me—and somehow I always love home
best at Chri.stmas time.”
Ivate into the night we worked, until
Dick came in from work. He was more
than pleased. At la.st everything was
completed. 'I’he tree was a beautiful
mass of silver, red and gold, witli toys
piled under it.
Finally at Father’s suggestion we all
went to lied and next morning I have
never seen two hai)i)ier boys than Jack
and Toby. The day went off well be
cause we each knew in our hearts that
mother was hai)py in heaven—so we did
our best to make the home happy for
her.