Rensselaer Republican, Volume 15, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 December 1882 — The Widow’s Surprise. , [ARTICLE]

The Widow’s Surprise. ,

A Christmas Story. i A California mining town, away up amid the snow-dad, rock-bound peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountains. The town was irregularly laid out, and was scattered along a creek which emptied into the Cosnmnes river several miles below. Both the dwellings and business houses—or, more properly speaking, cabins —were constructed of unhewn pine logs, the crevices between the timbers being “chinked” and plastered with mnd, The town contained at least a dozen saloons, or saloons and f ambling-houses combined, and in these ells much of the hard-earned money of the miner parted company with him, to take up its temporary abode in the saloon till or the pocket of the professional gambler. The dwellings of the town were scattered along the creek or built on the side of the mountain, the majority of them being rough “bachelor dens.” for women were scarce in the newly-discovered diggings. In a small cabin in the upper end of the town sat a woman in widow’s weeds, holding upon her knee n bright-eyed sunny-faced little ciriabout !> years old, while a little cherub of a boy lay upon a bearskin, before the open' fire-place. It was Christmas eve, and the woman | sat gaz ng abstractedly into the fire. She was yet young, and as the glowing flames lit up her sad face they invested it with weird beauty. Mary Stew-art. was the widow of Aleck Stew art. and but two years before had lived comfortably and happy in a c .mp on the American river. Aleck was a brawny miner, but the premature explosion of a blast in an underground tunnel had blotted out his life in an instant, leaving his family without a ;> o- • tector, and in straitened circumstances. His dJI y wages had been their sole support, and. now that he was gone, what could they do? With her little family Mrs. Stewart had emigrated to the camp in which we find them (all Western mining towns are called camps), and there she earned a precarious livelihood by washing olothes for the miners. Hers was a hard lot, but the brave little woman toiled on, cheered by the thought that her daily labors stood between her darling little ones and the gaunt wolf of starvation. Their clothes were patched and # shabby, and their food plain, and sometimes scant, yek, they were never reduced to absolute suffering. Jack Dayson, a stroug, honest miner, was passing the cabin this Christmas eve, when the. voice of the little girl within attracted his attention. Jack possessed an inordinate love for children, and, although his manly spirit would abhor the sneaking practice of eavesdropping, he could not resist the temptation to steal up to the window just a moment to listen to the sweet, prattling voice. The first words he caught were: “Before papa died we always had Christmas, didn’t \fre mamma?" “Yes, Totty darling, hot papa earned money enough to make his little pets happy at teat# once a year. You must remember, 4 Totty, * that w<s are very poor* and, although mamma works very, very hard, she can scarcely earn enough to support ns with foo'd and clothes.” •,«*< >•... ?. Little bright-faced Benny raised its curly head from its Mrt nest in the warm bear-skin and cheerfully said : “Des’ wait till I dit to be a man, mamma, an’ ’oo won’t have to wort. I’se doin’ to be a dreAttjbid miner, ’ike papa waa, an’ dit ’oo ever so much money,

bat I won't do near 'em hateful blastin' fingß and dit tilted, Ike-papa did.” Jack Dawson still lingered upon the outside. He could not leave, although he felt ashamed of himself for listening. “Why, bless my little man, what a brave future he has planned! I do hope and pray, darling, that you will grow up a strong and a good man, and one who will be a blessing and a comfort to mamma when she gets old.” “We hung up our stockings last Christmas, didn’t we, mamma?" “Yes, Totty, but we were poor then, and Santa Claus never notices real poor people. He gave you a little candy then, just because you were such good children." s “Is we any poorer now, mamma?" “Oh, yes, much poorer. He would never notice us at all, now." Jack Dawson detected a tremor of sadness in the widow’s voice as she uttered the last words, and he wiped a suspicious dampness from his eyes. “Where’s our dean stockings, mamma? I’m going to hang mine up anyhow ; maybe he will come like he did before, just because we try to be good children,” said Totty. “It will be no use, darling. I am sore he will not come,” and tears gathered in the mother’s eyes as she thonght of her empty purse. “I don’t care—l’m going to try anyhow. Please get one of my stockings, mamma,” pleaded the little girl. “Your clean stockings are on the line outside, and I cannot go out and hunt for them this bitter cold night. You may hang up your old ones; hut, oh-! darling, I fear you will be so terribly msappotnteil in the morning. Please let it go till next Christmas, and then we may be richer.” “No, mamma; I’m going to try anyhow.” Jack Dawson’s great generous heart swelled until it seemed breaking irom his bosom. He heard tire patter of little bare feet on the cabin floor as Totty ran about hunting hers and Benny’s stockings, and, after she had hung them up, heard her sweet voice again as she wondered over and over if Santa Claus really would forget them. He heard the mother, in a choking voice, tell her treasures to get ready for bed; heard them lisp their childish prayers, the little girl concluding': “And. oh Lord, please tell good Santa Claus that we are very poor, but that we love him as much as rich children do, for dear Jesus’ sake. Amen!”

After they were in bed, through a small rent in the plain white curtain, he saw the widow sitting before the fire, her face buried in her hands and weepihg bitterly. On a peg, jnst over the fire-place, hung two little patched and faded stockings, and then he could stand it no longer. He softly moved away from the window to the rear of the cabin, where some objects fluttering to the wind met his eyes. Among these lie searched until he found a little blue stocking which he removed from the line, folded tenderly, and placed in his overcoat pocket, and then set out for the main street of the camp. He entered Harry Hawk’s gambling hell, the largest in the place, where a host of miners and gamblers „were at play.. Jack was well known in the camp, and, when ho got upon a chair and called for attention, the hnm of voices and the clicking of ivory checks suddenly ceased. Then, in an earnest voice, he told what lie had seen and heart!, repeating every word of the conversation between the mother and her children. In conclusion he said: “Boys. I think I know you, every one of you, and I know what kind of metal yer made of. I’ve an idee that Santy Clans knows jist wliar that cabin’s sitiwated, an’ I’ve an idee that he’ll And it afore mornin*. Hyar’s one of the little gal’s stockings thet I hooked off’n the line where I heered the widder say she’d lmng ’em up with the washing The daddy o’ them little ’uns was a good, haid-workin’ miner, an’ he crossed the range iu the line o’ duty, just as any of us is liable to do in our dangerous business. Hyar goes a S2O gold piece right down in the toe, an’ liyar I lay this stockin’ on this oard-table—now chip in much or little, as ye kin afford.” “Hold them checks of mine on the ace-jack,” said Brocky Clark, a gambler, and, leaving the faro table, he picked the little stocking up carefully, looked atT it tenderly, and when he had laid it down another twenty had gone into the toe to keep oompany with the one placed there by Dawson. Another and another came up, until the foot of the stocking was well filled, and then catne the cry from the gambling tables :

“Pass her round, Jaok.” At the word he lifted it from the table and started around the hall. Before he had circulated it at half a dozen tables it showed signs of bursting beneath the weight of gold and silver coin, arid a strong coin bag, such as is used for sending treasure by express, was procured, and the stocking placed inside of it. The round of the large hall was made, and in the meantime the story had spread all over the camp. From various saloons came messengers saying: “Send the stockin’’round the eamp; the boys are waitin’ for it.” With a, party at his heels Jack went from saloon to saloon. Games ceaped, and tipplers left the bars as they entered each place, and miners,'garnblers, speculators, everybody, crowded up to tender their Christmas gift to the miner’s wjdpw aifd orphans. Any one who • hasUvtfd in the far Western camps and is acquainted with the generosity of Western men, will feel rio surprise or doubt my. .truthfulness when I say that after the round had t>een made the little blue stocking and heavy canvas

bag contained over SB,OOO in gold and silver coin. Horses were procured and a party dispatched to a large town down on the Cosumnes, from which they returned near daybreak with toys, clothing, provisions, etc., in almost endless variety. Arranging their gifts in proper shape, and securely tying the mouth of the bag of coin, the party noiselessly repaired to the widow’s humble cabin. The bag was first laid on the step, and the other articles piled up in a heap over it. On the step was laid the lid of a' large pasteboard box, on which was written with a piece of charcoal: “Santy Claus doesn’t always Give poor folks The shake in this camp. ” * * * * * * Christmas' morning dawned bright and beautiful. The night had been a stinging cold one, and when the rising sun peeped over the chain of mountains to the east, and shot its beams upon the western range, the sparkling frost flashed from the snow-clad peaks as though their towering heads were sprinkled with pure diamonds. Mrs. Stewart arose, ftnd a shade of pain crossed her handsome face, as the empty stockings caught her maternal eye. She cast a hurried glance toward the bed where her darlings lay sleeping, and whispered: “Oh, God! how dreadful is poverty.” She built a glowing fire, and set about preparing the frugal breakfast. When at was almost reader she' approached the bed, kissed the little'ones until they were wide awake, and lifted them to the floor. With eager haste Totty ran to the stockings, only to turn away, sobbing as though her heart would break. Tears blinded the mother, and, clasping her little girl to her heart, she said in a choking voice: “Never mind, my darling; next Christmas I am sure mamma will be richer, and then Santa Claus will bring us lots of nice things.” “Oh! Mamma!” ,

The exclamation came from little Benny, who had opened the door and ■was standing gazing in amazement upon the wealth of gifts there displayed. Mrs. Stewart sprang to his side and looked in speechless astonishment. Sha read the card, and then, causing her little ones to kneel with her in the open door-way, she poured out her soul in a torrent of praise and thanksgiving to God. The family arose from their knees and began to move the stores into the cabin. There were several sacks of flour, hams, canned fruits, pounds and pounds of coffee, tea and sugar, new dress goods, and a handsome warm woolen shawl for the widow, shoes, stockings, hats, mittens and clothing for the children, a great big wax doll that could cry arid move its eyes, for Totty, and a beauijful red sled for Benny. All were carried inside, amid alternate laughs and tears. “Bring in the of salt, Totty, and that is all," said the mother. “Is not God good to us?” “I can’t lift it, mamma; it’s froze to the step.” The mother stooped and took hold of it and lifted harder and harder, until she raised it in from the step. Her cheek blanched as she noted its great weight, and she carried it in and laid it upon the breakfast-table. She untied the"bag and emptied the contents of it upon the table. Gold and silver—more than she had ever thought of in her wildest dreams of cohifort, and almost buried in the pile of treasure lay, Totty’s little blue stocking. We will not intrude longer upon such happiness, but leave the joyfiil family sounding praise to heaven—find Santa Claus. The whole story soon reached Mrs. Stewart’s ears. She knew Jack Dawson by sight, and when 'she next met him, although the honest fellow tried hard to push by her, she caught hold of his coat and ('ompelled him to stand and listen to her tearful thanks. The tears shed were not all hers, for when Jack moved away there were drops of liquid crystal hanging to his ruddy cheeks. Four months from that “Merrie Christmas” Mrs. Stewart became Mrs. Jack Dawson, and every evening, when the hardy miner returns from liis daily labor to his comfortable and happy home, Totty and Benny will climb upon his strong knees, and almost smother him with kisses, while they lovingly address him as “Our Santa Claus papa.”