Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 34, Number 32, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 December 1901 — The Christmas Prize Sled. [ARTICLE]

The Christmas Prize Sled.

BY WELDON J. COBB.

dj—p HERB were about twenty boys in *|| Brookdale, and they were divided into two “crowds.” Fully twothfrda swore fealty to Bruce Morrison, aai M Bruce was a prime leader in llvellnaaa, sport and mischief, the coterie

found itself in hot water most of the time. It was two days before Christmas, and Ned Throop, the leader of the other faction, stood looking up the road and then down the road in front of his house. It had been snowing by spurts since morning, promising not the traditional howltag, pelting, drift-raging tempest that blockades railroads and shuts people into their homes full of old memories and cozy winter stories of a time gone by, but a soft, fleecy mantling of the landscape, suggestive of just surface enough to encourage gay sleighing parties, happy beaux, bright-eyed belles and light snowballing. Ned was poor—he was so poor, in fact, that he did not even own a fifty-cent “bob,” and the realization made him a trifle sour and cynical. “Wish it wouldn’t snow at all,” he soliloquized. “Snow’s no good for poor folks. They call this ‘an open winter’ so far. Wish it would keep open. Good deal more fun in the clear, open fields than wading through drifts, and—Cracky! she's coming!” At the bend of the road a top-heavy, portly, wobbly load came toddling into view, A second sure stare Ned took, uttered a joyful "Hurrah!” and darted down the road on a “two-forty” run. He used no ceremony in dashing through the open gateway of even a meaner house than his own. He burst open its door with a rush. "Eunice —little Eunice!” he shouted excitedly. "Quick! quick! She's come!” Ofor the "front parlor” uncarpteed floor there plt-a-patted a pitiful tread. ▲ white-faced, pain-eyed little girl of ten came hurrying on her crutches. “Nsd!” she gasped, eager and wonder-

filled, “you don’t mean the Christmas load?” “I do mean the Christmas load—just 1 .” declared Ned, emphatically, and tenderly he caught up the frail little mite, and planted her, crutches and all, on the top of a fence post. Her eyes danced and she trembled with delight It was the greatest load of joy, surprises, rich " and rare magnificence coming nearer, nearer, ever was; boxes and' bundles, crates and barrels, burlaped rocking horses and cotton-wrapped dolls. Oh! she could guess them all! And lying on top of the great wagon box was a green, gorgeous pine tree, straight as an arrow, and with spreading stout limbs ready to hold the heaviest gifts in Christendom. To Ned and tb Eunice it was a royal procession. They held their breath as it quite passed by. “Look!” exclaimed Ned,...pointing to a dazzling article lightly strapped to the rear. “Oh, Ned!” breathed little Eunice, in a rapture. “That's the prize,” said Ned—'“and isn't it a beauty? Yes, Eunice,” he repeated, a longing, yet half-saddened expression in his face, “that’s the prize to the most popular boy in town.” “Well, isn’t that you?” demanded Eunice, smiling radiantly. “No,” responded Ned, practically, "because Bruce Morrison has got the most fellows in his crowd. Don’t care, though!” declared Ned, with a philosophical toss of his head. “I’m solid with my friends! They’re old and true, and his fellers, huh! I’d like that sled, though. Look at the upholstered seat, and the hand-pushers. Oh, I’d like that sled—for you, Eunice!” Little Eunice knew no better than to cry at this, because she saw that Ned felt bad, and he went a little dismally down the road. A load of hay had upset in the ditch a few days before. The boys had famous fun playing in it. Ned engaged himself kicking free its mantis of snow, expecting some of his friends along pretty soon. Suddenly—“Hi! What you doing? Brr-rr! I’ve got you!”

Ned’s foot was seized, the hay rustled. Then, still holding to him, up amid the wintry mass arose —a man. At first Ned thought he must be "a phantom.” He was a tramp in dress, but he had a long white beard and snowy white hair, and made Ned think of “patriarchs.” He had been sleeping in the hay, and Ned had stepped on him. He complained a little, yawned, and asked Ned if he could “get a poor fellow something to eat” Ned took him to Eunice’s. She gave him a meal, and while he was eating whispered to Ned: “Isn’t he the very picture of Santa Claus?” “Say!” ejaculated Ned, with a start; “that makes me think of something great! Keep him here till I come back.” The man had told Ned he wanted work. Ned had thought of Mr. Ames. He was the school trustee, and the great friend of the boys who had gotten up the present big holiday festival. This happened: he hired the augustlooking tramp for three days. He was to sleep in his barn, and Christmas eve was to "play Santa Claus” in the distribution of the gifts—the crack prize sled “to the most popular boy in Brookdale,” along with the rest. • « • • • • • A flutter of joy and expectation possessed the throng in the little old school house. It subsided as Mr. Ames stepped to the platform. His watch was in his hand and he looked quite nervous. “We have waited beyond the time appointed for our Christmas exercises,” he said. “Our Santa Claus has disappointed us, and twenty of our boys have disappeared.”

Another Santa Claus than the tramp appeared. There was music, some recitations, and then the generous gift-giv-ing. Finally, the beautiful prize sled was drawn out upon the stage. “As I announced a week ago,” said Mr. Ames, “this sled will go to the boy voted most popular, and I hope you will select the best behaved boy, as well, and ” “Ned!” “Our Ned I” “Ned Throop!” And amid blushes and congratulations, and a pleased nod from. Mr. Ames himself, Ned found himself the happiest boy ever was. “Because I give it to Eunice,” he said. “Of course it's all luck, for the other fellows stayed away, somehow, or I wouldn’t have got the votes. But Eunice should have it—poor, dear, patient little cripple —and angel!” About midnight it was known in Brobkdale how and why Bruce Morrison’s crowd had not been present at the festival. They had been up to mischief, as usual. It seemed, Mr. Ames was going the next day to Bay view to see about a new teacher, and if he found one, school would begin earlier the next week than- suited Bruce and his friends. They knew he would drive over in his old-fashioned close carriage. Just as dark they got into his stable and pulled the vehicle out. It was Jolly enough fun, once free of the town, dragging the carriage through the woods, and five miles beyond into a swamp. Just as they were about to abandon it where it could not be possibly found for several days, and hurry back to the festival, the door of the vehicle was pushed open. There sat the old white-haired tramp. He had been sleeping in the cozy cushioned carriage regularly. The startled boys explained. “Santa Claus” coolly informed them he could not think of walking back to town! They had to pull him back. They groaned and tugged and quarreled. They were tired, disgusted and, worst of all,

too late to vote on the Christmas Prise Sled!