Democratic Sentinel, Volume 19, Number 50, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 December 1895 — THE CHILDREN'S BEST FRIEND [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE CHILDREN'S BEST FRIEND

SANTA CLAUS is the children's friend. Who he was we have little means of knowing. Authentic history is almost silent on the subject, merely stating that he was the Bishop of Myra, in Lycia, and died about the year 326. Tradition has woven many a pretty tale about him, and one runs that he appeared in the night time and secretly made valuable presents to the children of the household. What manner of person St. Nicholas was, seems subject to variation, according to the time, place or manner of regarding him. Medieval painters represent him as slender, and clad in full episcopal robes with miter and crozier. Modern painters and storytellers in England, Germany and America, give us a jovial, rubicund type of a man, with none of the features of the cleric. Kris Kringle is regarded as an alternative name for Santa Claus, but he is a totally different being. Kris Kr>rg’e is simply a corruption of tke German word "Christ Kiudlein," or Christ Child. Christmas is children’s da.y; it In the day when, as Dickens says, we should remember the time when its great founder was a child himself. It is especially the day for the friendless young, the children in hospitals, the lame, the sick, the weary, the blind. No child should be left alone on Christinas day.for loneliness with children means brooding. A child growing up with no child friend is not a child at all, but a premature man or woman. The best Christmas present to a boy is a box of tools, the best to a girl any number of dolls. When thev get older ami can write letters a postoflice is a delightful boon. These are to be bought, but they tire far niof%> amusing if made at home. Any good-sized cardboard box will do for this purpose. T’he lid should be fastened to it so that when it stands up it will open like a door. A slit must be cut out about an inch wide and from five to six inches long, so as to allow the postage of small parcels, yet not large enough even to admit the smallest hand. Children should learn to respect the inviolate character .of the post from the earliest age. Capital scrapbooks can be made by children. Old railway guides may be the foundation and every illustrated paper a magazine of art. A paste box, next to a paint box. is a most serviceable toy. Hobby horses are profitable steeds and can be made to' go through any amount of paces. But mechanical toys are more amusing to his elders than to the child, who wishes to do his own mechanism, A boy can be amused by turning him out of the house, giving him a ball or a kite, or letting him dig in the ground for the unhappy mole. Little girls, who must be kept in on a rainj’ day, or invalid children, are very hard to amuse, and recourse must be had to story telling, to the dear, delightful thousand and one books now written for children, of which “Alice in Wonderland” is the flower of perfection.

BEGINNING at Benton City, on the Union Pacific Road, the telegraph line stretches to the north, leaps across to the Laramie mountains, and at a point opposite the great mass of earth and rock and tree, called Red Butte, it comes to a sudden stop. From this point to the fort, a distance of twen-ty-five miles, is the roughest portion of the way, and the skulking bands of Indians make it the most dangerous. At the terminus of the line is a rude shanty and a soldier operator. Close by the shanty are tents of the soldiers, who are setting the poles and pushing the line along until the fort shall have electric communication with the outside world. It is December now —only two days to Christmas. There have been cold rains, snow storms, severe weather, and the soldiers are wondering why they have not been ordered back to the fort for the winter, when a mounted messenger arrives over the trail bearing the expected order. The Colonel’s wife has gone East. The operator is to wire her to remain where she is until spring. When her answer is received the shanty is to be closed up, camp broken, and the party headed for the fort. The afternoon wears away, the night’comes down, and some of the soldiers are asleep, when Benton City sends in its call, and followiHtby~a telegram reading: “The Colonel’s wife Started West four days ago, and ought to bp there or at the fort now.” Next morning there was an arrival from the South. The Colonel’s wife, riding a horse with a blanket for a saddle, dismounted at the front of the shanty’, and opened the door with a cheery “Howdy do, boys!” to the operator anil the Sergeant. As both men stood at “attention,” she removed the hood and cloak which enveloped her, shook off the snow, and said to the Sergeant: “I came through with hardly an hour’s rest, and I’m hungry as a wolf. Tell some of the men to cook something. I’ll give the Colonel a surprise.” Everybody hustled and bustled, and an hour later camp was broken, and twelve people headed for the north, the strongest man breaking the way, and the Col•nej’s wife bringing up the -rear, with a kind word and a smile for every soldier. The trail led up a narrow valley, and the wild gale had drifted the snow }ipfi| the line had to move forward at a snail’s pace. At nightfall they had made just half the distance to the fort. In a.thieket all ate together. Said the Sergeant, as in vain for the stars: “I saw Injun signs back by the creek.” “I see that you have revolvers as well aa muskets," remarked the Colonel’s wife. “Please give me one and extra ammunition. PH try and not be a burden to you,

As the gale came sweeping down the valley and roaring around the mountain base, there were wild war whoops and the crack of rifles. In the darkness a score of Indians had crept close-upon the camp. Both sentries were shot dead. "It’s only Injuns, boys; only Injuns!"

shouted the Sergeant, and he fired his first shot. “Now, then, push out.” They had not moved ten rods before a rifle cracked and one of the men pitched forward, shot through the heart. A minute later two more bullets whistled over the men’s heads. Then the little band was hidden from sight of the Indian sentinels by the blinding whirl of snow. “They're after us, ma'am," said the Sergeant. “They won’t take me prisoner,” whispered the Colonel’s wife, as she held out the revolver. “That’s right, ma'am. We ate headed for the fort right enough, and maybe the red fiends will haul Vs after a bit and let us go in peace. A i\erry Christmas to you, though I’ve seenSmerrier ones in my time.” For a mile or more the little party breasted the storm. Then came a sudden shot, and the rear guard went down. There were seven men and a woman at S o'clock. At !) o'clock there were but five men, at 10 but’,four, at midnight only two. Two men woman—the Sergeant, the soldier-operator, and the Colonel’s wife. The others had been picked off one by one, and the Indians still followed. Now and then the trio halted, knelt down, and .peering into the snow-whirl, opened a fusillade which checked pursuit if it did, not wound or kill. e ”

Instinct must have ■'g'fudbd them in that storm— Providence must have shielded them from the bullets.cbut the storm •continued to rage and the vengeful foe to pursue, till the report of the firearms reached the t'tfrs of the sentinel at the fort. No one had yet learned what was happening, when three figures staggered up to the gate, and on into the fort, and up to the door of the Colonel’s headquarters. Two of the figures held up a third between them. As he peered in the Sergeant saluted and said: “Col. Dawson, I report myself, and I bring you a Christmas present.” And as the Colonel uttered a shout of surprise and rushed forward with outstretched arms, the brave little woman fell into them, and the two men sank down in their tracks, and those who lifted them up wet their fingers with the blood of heroes. A handsome merry-faced woman, who is five years older—a Sergeant of infantry who limps a bit—a lone grave in which sleeps the soldier-operator—nothing more to be seen. The Colonel’s wife may tell you the story—the Sergeant couldn’t be coaxed to, but he can’t conceal the limp,

and is proud of the extra stripes he has worn on his sleeves ever since that Christmas day.

“THEY WON'T TAKE ME PRISONER.”

“BOTH MEN STOOD AT ATTENTION.”