Rensselaer Journal, Volume 11, Number 28, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 December 1901 — The tramp's Christmas [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The tramp's Christmas

Ie was such an unkempt, sad looking creature when he presented himself at the back door that Christmas morning asking for something to eat that Mary was more than half inclined to disobey the rule of the Tracy household, which stood good «t all seasons of the year as well as at Yuletide, and refuse his request. Before she could do so, however, Mrs. Tracy herself came Into the kitchen, and, with scant show of hospitality, Mary allowed the tramp to -enter. She had always secretly grumbled because Mrs. Tracy would allow no one to be turned away hungry, and today. there was no excuse, for the famly had Just finished breakfast and there was plenty of food left to give the man a substantial meal. ■"Coin’ to come and rob the house to-night, like’s not,” was Mary’s inward comment as she put the coffee pot on the stove, and she watched the man narrowly to see If he were making a mental plan of the house, but tier suspected burglar did not once look up from the floor as he sat nervously twirling his hat. "He’s young and able to work,” Mary soliloquized, as she bustled to And fro putting eatables on one end «f the kitchen table. “Might be tol--erable good lookin’, too, If he was chaved and dressed up—and—washed.” "There!” she snapped, setting a cup of coffee down on the table with as much force as she could without spilling Its contents. "Your vitual’s set.” The man, scarcely raising hts eyes, •dropped his hat and hitched his chair near the table. Just aB he eagerly clutched the cup of fragrant coffee, a door opened, a pair of merry blue eyes peered into the kitchen and a shrill little voice piped out, "Hello, man, merry Christmas'” The “man” started, shifted uneasily In his chair, but made no reply. Undaunted by his chilling reception, the door was burst open, and a goldentaired little boy burst Into the room. ’With the unquestioning confidence ot ' ■childhood, he walked up to tb» Atranger and said gravely, "I B ald merry Christmas.” "Run into the other room, Donald,” Mrxy put Id hastily. The man shot a half-defiant glance «t her, but did not look at the child. "I don’t want to.” the little fellow replied. “He’s company, and mamma Mid I could ’tain him. I brlnged the new Mother Doose book dat I dot from Santa Claus to show he,” and, pushing a chair close to the table, from if be mounted the end of the table •west, rosy cherub observing some

look wonderingly at his strange little companion, and then gave his full attention to the meal. “Don’t you want to talk?" Donald demanded. “I’m not fit—that is, ’er, I don’t know how to talk to such a little kid,” the man answered. “All right, I guess you want to eat,” the child observed, graciously. “I guess I’ll read to you,” opening the book he was holding in his arms. “You know Mother Goose, don’t yoit?” The man shook his head, but something like a smile flitted across his sullen features. “Well, I’ll show you the pictures and read you ’bout ’em. This one,” and Donald slid along the table as near to the man as the dishes would allow, “this one is about ‘Blue Boy.’ I’ll read ’bout him,” and, in a chanting, high-pitched voice, he repeated the rhyme of “Little Boy Blue.” “Did you ever sleep under i haymow?” he asked, suddenly, at the conclusion of his recitation. The man frowned slightly at the childish query, bit his lip and nodded his head.

"Was It nice?” went on his interrogator. “Did your mamma let you?” The man’s lower lip was pressed cruelly by his teeth at this question, but a surly shake of his head was his only reply. “Oh, was you naughty and runned away?” the boy asked, slowly. Had Mary been an observing girl, she would have seen, under the scrubby beard and grime on the haggard face, a dull red flush spread to the roots of his shaggy, neglected hair. "Didn't your mamma come to look for you?” continued the little tormentor. “She didn’t know where I was,” the tramp answered, In a strange, muffled voice. .. "Then you hided from her!” exclaimed the child, with blue eyqes wide open. The man was looking out of the window now, forgetful of his good breakfast. “I was naughty once and runned away,” Donald prattled on, "and when my mamma found me she was just awful glad, but she cried, too—wasn’t that funny? And she said mothers was always glad when they got their boys back, even when they was big and runned awful far off, 'strayed into the paths’—l forget Just what that part was, but she said I must always come back to her —an’—an’—l don’t

’member any more, but I guess if you’d go back to your mamma she'd forget the naughty and be glad. Do you think she’d cry?’’ The man cast one fierce look over his shabby person. "Cry!” he exclaimed, bitterly. “Oh ” he drew his breath hard between his teeth as the sight of the baby face choked back the oath that nearly escaped him. “Isn’t you goin’ to eat any more?’* chirped the little fellow, with awakened hospitality, noticing that his guest, sitting with his head on his hand, seemed to have lost his appetite. The child’s voice roused him from his thoughts, and, seeing that Mary had paused in her work and was watching him curiously, he asked humbly, "Can I have some coffee?” Meanwhile Donald was turning the pages of his book. "Here’s a funny picture,” he announced, pointing.-with his fat little finger, "but it’s ’bout a dreadful naughty boy. I’ll read ’bout

Wn* and, In a very solemn and taspreasive tone, he repeated the tale at “Tom, Tom, the Piper’s Son." "It’s dreadful bad to steal, yea know," he commented, gravely. “My mamma says so, and, of course, she knows—mammas know most everything, don’t they? Once—what do you think?—l stole! I didn't steal a pig like Tom, but I stole some little cakes, and my mamma talked to me a lo.ng time, and she told me bo many things so I’d grow to be a good man.. Did your mamma want you to be a gopd man, too?” The man choked on a hasty cup of cptfee, but made no reply. Donald did not seem to. expect one, but chatted on. “I was ’fraid my mamma did not love me any more when I stole those cakes, ’.cause she looked so sorry, but." with a happy little laugh, “seemed like she loved me more’n ever after. But I don’t want to see her look sorry like that again. Did you ever make your mamma look sorry—out of her eyes, you know?" # A smothered groan from the stranger and, with a child’s intuition of “something wrong," Donald sought to cheer and console, and said, reassuringly, ‘‘Well, you Just go an’ tell her you’re sorry an’ see if she don’t be glad and love you. I most know she will.” The man had ceased eating and sat motionless with his head bowed on his breast until Mary approached and curtly asked if he were “done eatin’.’’ “Yes,” he answered absently, and, looking wistfully at the' child, he reached for his hat. “Is you goin’ to see your mamma?” questioned Dopald, eagerly. “Yes, my little man,” came the answer, in a clear, ringing voice that made Mary jump and drop a basin. “That’s Just where I am going. But first, tell me your name.” "I’m little Donald Robert Tracy, and my papa’s big Donald Robert!” "Good-by, v little preacher. You’re the best one I‘ve ever heard,” and Just brushing the golden head with his lips, the tramp passed out of the door and went down the street, hot with the slouching, hang-dog air with which he had approached the house, but with head erect and shoulders squared, he swung along with long, easy strides. “Of all the ungrateful wretches!” exclaimed Mary, angrily, to Mrs. Tracy, who had slipped in through the half-open door. "He never even said ‘thank you.”’ Her mistress did not seem to hear, but, with shining eyes, gathered her little son up in her arms, and, as she pressed him closely to her, she whispered brokenly, “And a little child shall lead them." • • * • • A year passed, and little Donald’s “ ’talning” the tramp was forgotten

by all save Mrs. Tracy. She often wondered what fruit the good seed sown by the Innocent child last Christmas morning had borne. That he had been God’s chosen instrument for working out some great end, her gentle heart never doubted. It was, therefore, a great pleasure and satisfaction to her to receive a long letter from the “man.” It was written from his home in a far eastern city, and told, in. a simple, straight forward manner, the story of his downfall and how, moved by Donald’s childish prattle, he had worked his way back home, resolved to begin life anew; how kind friends hafl helped him and encouraged him, and how he was doing well at his old trade of bookbinding. “I was going from bad to worse," the letter ran, “and nothing is easier for a young fellow to do, and the road down to being a ‘common tramp’ Is a short one when one lets started. When I came to your house that Christmas morning I was bitter, hard and desperate. No one living could have touched my heart as did that little blue-eyed boy. His little sermon, with its text taken from ‘Mother Goose, snatched this poor brand from the burning. Tell the little chap that I found m»y mamma, and she was glad as he said.” Accompanying the letter was a package of Christmas gifts, addressed to Donald. Among other things it contained a book—a copy of "Mother Goose” exactly like the one from which he had “read” to the man'to “ ’tain him,” exquisitely bound Jn white vellum. On the cover in gold letters was Donald’s name, and below it, “From his grateful Blue Boy. Christmas —189 —.”

Jn England children hang their stockings at the foot of their beds. In America the whole family suspend their stockings from the mantelpiece ol the sitting room, to save Santa Claus the trouble of ascending the stairs and entering each room to distribute hli wares.

“A DOOR OPENED.”

“YOU KNOW MOTHER GOOSE, DON’T YOU?”