A Christmas Tree For Santa - A Short Childrens Christmas Story

Click here to read an article about why Christmas stories can connect with anyone.


During the Christmas Season the usually stoic lobby of First State Bank of Raton was
transformed into a Christmas wonderland, and this Christmas Eve was no different.
Wreaths and garlands graced the walls, and centerpieces made from pinecones were at
each teller station. The female tellers and bank officers all wore cute little elf outfits, though the men still wore their usual suits and ties. Only the younger ones were bold enough to don a bright Christmas tie.

At the far end of the lobby three eight-foot tables were crammed with cakes, cookies,
snacks, eggnog, and punch in a huge crystal punch bowl. A ten-foot tall Christmas tree, decorated with multi-colored ornaments, garlands, twinkling lights, and tinsel dominated the center of the lobby. Under the tree were brightly wrapped packages of all shapes and sizes, merely empty boxes of course, but what Christmas tree wouldn't have presents stuffed beneath it?

Sitting next to the tree in a great stuffed armchair sat Santa Claus...AKA Charlie Wagner. Charlie was uncomfortable in the hot Santa suit and the itchy white beard, but he loved playing Santa Claus. He had never played Santa for the bank's annual Christmas open house before, but his friend Shannon, who was the Public Relations Manager of the bank, had asked him if he could...and Shannon Smith was a woman he could NEVER say no to.

Charlie simply adored Shannon. To him she was probably the most beautiful and sweet
woman in the world, though he never dared to let her know he felt that way. Charlie
didn't feel he was worthy of a woman like Shannon, let alone think she was attracted to him at all. She was a bright and beautiful woman, climbing the ladder to success, the best part of her life still ahead of her. On the other hand Charlie thought of himself as a washed-up old has-been who had fallen off that ladder years ago. He had once been an ambitious and successful community leader and businessman. Then his wife divorced him, he lost his home, his business fell on lean times, and he lost all confidence in himself...he burned out.

As Charlie sat in his place as Santa Claus, he watched Shannon move around the lobby
performing her duties as hostess of the event. He never ceased to marvel at her grace, beauty, and especially her smile that seemed to not only brighten the room, but his heart as well. He remembered how she had offered to pay him to play Santa for the bank and the look of disappointment on her face when he declined. Broke as he was, he couldn't accept any money, even from a bank. He knew she was just trying to help him out, as a lot of his good friends had done after he fell on hard times, but taking money to play Santa on Christmas Eve just didn't seem right.

Charlie carefully adjusted the pillow he had duct-taped to his belly before the next child climbed into his lap. He was a bull of a man at over six feet tall, but hardly fat. People milled all around the bank lobby talking, laughing, and enjoying the snack feast at the refreshment table. A few children ran about playing, but the majority of them waited patiently for their turn to see Santa Claus and share their Christmas wishes. Charlie greeted each one with a hearty "Ho, Ho, Ho", which sometimes scared the more timid young ones into tears and wails. Charlie was good with kids though, and after a bit even the most frightened child would be sitting in his lap laughing and giggling.

Charlie's full attention was on all of the children gathered about him, so he jumped
slightly, almost bouncing a young boy right off of his knee, when Shannon came up next to him, leaned down and whispered in his ear.

"Does Santa need a break for a little while, or maybe some punch?"

Charlie turned and met Shannon's beautiful eyes for what seemed like an eternity, before averting his own, hoping the great white beard hid his blush.

"No ma'am, I'm just fine for now," he croaked.

Shannon's smile made his heart melt and his legs go weak.

"Well I want to thank you for doing this for me...us, Charlie. I really appreciate it. I can't think of anyone who is a better Santa Claus than you."

Charlie blushed again, not sure what to say. He thought it funny that she was so easy to talk to sometimes, yet at other times his tongue felt like a pound of chopped liver and forgot how to form words.

"Anytime you need a Santa Claus, you can count on me Shannon," he finally replied.

Charlie almost fainted when she gave him a light kiss on his Santa cap and walked away, finally sending the boy on his lap tumbling to the floor with a surprised squeal. The boy jumped up, indignant, and scolded Charlie.

"Gee Santa, you need to get your mind off the babes and onto business...I thought you
were married to some old lady at the North Pole anyway?"

Charlie blushed deep red as both adults and children began to laugh. He wasn't sure if they were laughing at him or at the unexpected comments from such a small boy. He
regained his composure quickly though, a quick-witted response coming to mind almost
immediately, but he held his tongue, thinking a Santa should not say such things.

Charlie didn't notice that Shannon had turned a short distance away, watching him with a twinkle in her eyes. She knew he had a crush on her. It wasn't something he hid very well. The thought made her both uncomfortable and flattered all at the same time.

Though she had known Charlie for nearly ten years, she had never gotten to know him
that well. They never had the same circle of friends and rarely met outside of business related functions. Shannon knew she could always count on him to help out when she had a problem requiring someone with his skills and experience, and she had always reciprocated by throwing some bank business his way. When he was doing work for the bank he never failed to drop by her office to chat for awhile, always bright and cheerful, which ran counter to the rumor mill wisdom that made him out to be a grouchy bully. He had always treated her with respect and gentleness, and somehow she knew that was the real Charlie.

Shannon had never really considered getting into a relationship with another man since her divorce and a few painful relationships afterward. Her children and her career were the most important things to her, and while she missed having a man to share her life with, she didn't miss the pain that caring for one always seemed to bring her. She felt comfortable around Charlie...safe even, but she was always careful not to give him any signals that might lead him on. He had made a few shy attempts to show her that he cared for her, sometimes sending her flowers or a card. She always thanked him, but never let him see how flattered and happy those gifts really made her.

As she watched him now, bringing such joy into the eyes of every child in the room,

Shannon couldn't help but feel pride in him. Life had thrown him a lot of curve balls the past few years, and a lesser man would probably have sunk himself into a bottle of whiskey...but not Charlie. Despite his misfortunes he never quit fighting to rebuild his life, and more importantly, never quit giving of himself to help other people as he was now. She remembered the fierce pride that radiated from his eyes, overcoming the pain and hurt that usually resided in them, as he declined any payment for playing Santa Claus today. As much as she wanted to help him, she couldn't help but respect him and his wishes. She wished she could see that fire in his eyes more often.

Just then Charlie glanced over at her, noticed she was watching him, and turned away
quickly, his blush obvious even behind the white Santa beard. Shannon couldn't help but giggle as she turned back to her duties, thinking, "He's so darn cute when he does that!"

*****

As the afternoon began to grow late, the number of children gathered around Charlie
began to slowly subside. After a while he was alone again. The few children remaining in the lobby had already seen him and were now enjoying cookies and punch at the refreshment table. Charlie stood and stretched, holding the beard carefully as he yawned.

He turned to survey the remaining people in the bank, looking for Shannon in particular.

He loved to watch her while she went about her work. She was always friendly and
warm; giving everyone a smile and making them feel welcome. That smile was no
painted on beauty queen smile either. It was genuine, and in Charlie's mind the all-time most beautiful smile he'd ever seen.

Charlie's mind got lost watching Shannon for only few moments before a slight tug on his sleeve brought him back to earth. He looked down to see a small girl with the biggest brown eyes he'd ever seen looking up at him shyly, but with no trace of fear.

"Are you really Santa Claus?" she whispered hopefully.

Charlie let out a hearty Santa laugh and dropped down to one knee.

"Well as a matter of fact I am...and I'll bet your name is...Mary?"

"Nope."

"Jennifer?"

"Nuh uh."

"Crystal?"

"Wrong again, Santa!"

Charlie rubbed his beard thoughtfully.

"Oscar?"

The little girl giggled and shook her head.

"OK darlin', Santa must be getting old...help me out?"

She giggled again before whispering "Wendy Garcia."

"WENDY! I knew it!"

Little Wendy giggled some more, then her big brown eyes turned serious.

"Can I sit on your lap?"

Charlie laughed again while sitting down into his chair and patting his knee. "Climb
aboard Miss Wendy Garcia!"

Charlie helped her up onto his knee and waited while she settled in before asking, "What
can Santa do for you this fine afternoon, Wendy?"

"Well I need to ask you for something."

"Ask away young lady. What can Santa get you for Christmas this year?"

"A Christmas tree," she said matter-of-factly.

"A Christmas tree?"

"Yes, a Christmas tree, but not a very big one."

Charlie paused a moment, rubbing his beard thoughtfully.

"Didn't your Mommy and Daddy get a tree this year?"

Wendy looked Charlie straight in the eye.

"I don't have a Daddy, and Mommy is in Hollywood so she can be an actress, and can't
come home for Christmas. I live with my Grandma and Grandpa." She pointed across the
lobby.

Charlie followed her finger and picked out an old couple sitting at a desk opposite of one of the loan officers. The old man was dressed in a faded old flannel shirt, patched blue jeans, and a beat up straw hat. His face was creased and withered from many years of sun, wind, and rain. His wife was a plump friendly looking woman wearing a simple housedress and a worn knit shawl. The old man twiddled his thumbs nervously between his knees as the loan officer spoke on the phone.

Charlie turned his attention back to the little girl.
"Your grandparents look like they are very nice people, Wendy, and I'm sure that your

Mommy misses you dearly. Just think, someday when she's a famous movie star you'll
both live in a big mansion in Beverly Hills...right next door to Harrison Ford!"

Wendy's eyes lit up.

"Yes, won't it be cool?"

Then she looked at Charlie with a quizzical expression. "But I don't think I'd want to live
next door to a car lot!"

She rolled her eyes at Charlie as they exchanged a look, then a hug.

"Never mind darlin'," he grinned. "OK now, what about this tree business? Won't your

Grandma and Grandpa get you one this year?"

Wendy sighed.

"We never get a tree, Grandpa says we ain't got room for one. That's why I want just a
little tree, one I could fit in my bedroom."

She paused a moment, then whispered, "Can you keep a secret?"

Charlie looked serious and crossed his heart with his finger.

"Santa's no snitch darlin'. Your secret is safe with me."

Wendy looked at him for a moment, then a look of satisfaction came over her face as she continued to whisper.

"Well Grandma and Grandpa don't have much money. They don't know I was listening,
but I heard them talking. They came down here to the bank to get money so they could
buy me a Christmas present. I don't need anything, but I don't want to hurt their feelings either. Christmas isn't about presents anyway, it's about the baby Jesus...isn't it Santa?"

Charlie looked into Wendy's big brown eyes for a moment. He just wanted to take that
wonderful little girl into his arms and hug her. After hearing so many children asking for expensive toys all day, it warmed his heart to hear this little angel speak of the true meaning of Christmas.

"Yes Wendy, you're one hundred percent right. You sure are smart for such a little girl.

So you've never had a Christmas tree?"

"Nope."

Charlie rubbed his beard again, seriously deep in thought.

"Here I go again. I'm gonna get myself involved in things that ain't my business. What the heck, it's Christmas. What can they do, shave my head and send me to Bosnia?"

A tug on his fake beard brought Charlie's attention back to Wendy.

"I don't mean to be pushy, Santa, but Grandpa looks like he's ready to go. Do you think you could just throw a little tree on your sleigh for me tonight? I won't ask for anything else, but I've always dreamed of having a Christmas tree like everyone else."

Charlie smiled, but before he could speak he noticed the old couple getting up from the loan officer's desk and walking away, an obvious look of pain and disappointment on their faces. He took young Wendy in his arms and lifted her back onto the floor as he stood.

"Yes Wendy, you'll get your tree. I promise. In fact if you'll excuse me I'll get right to work on it!"

Wendy could only watch as Charlie walked quickly across the lobby to the loan officer's desk. Bob, the loan officer looked up, somewhat surprised to see Santa Claus leaning over the front of the desk, beard draped over his computer screen.

"What can I do for you Charlie...or should I say Santa Claus?"

Charlie ignored his arrogant tone.

"Bob, tell me something. Did those two old folks get their loan?"

Bob shook his head. "No. Their only income is Social Security, and they are way too
deep into debt."

"Well how much did they want?"
Bob snickered. "One hundred dollars. We don't make loans that small."

Charlie felt his blood begin to boil. He leaned over the desk until he was eye to eye with the loan officer. Bob didn't like the look he saw in those eyes, and he liked Charlie's growling whisper even less.

"You mean to tell me you turned down a loan for a measly $100 on Christmas Eve?" He
let Bob stew under his glare before continuing. "My gosh Bob, you've always been a
putz, but I never figured you for a Scrooge. A big shot like you couldn't just loan them folks the money yourself? You blow that much cash going to Happy Hour!"

As Charlie rose and turned in disgust, Bob regained his courage and hissed, "Maybe that's why I've got money and you don't, loser!"

Charlie turned back to Bob, his eyes cold and hard. He fought the urge to reach out and grab him by the neck and throttle him, knowing Santa beating up on someone, even if he was a jerk, would not look good. Charlie changed tactics, his eyes softening.

"OK Bob, you have a job to do, I understand that. The old man upstairs would probably
kick your butt for making a loan like that. Tell you what, we can skin this cat another way. How about you just give them the hundred bucks you owe me for playing Santa? I know I've got another hour, but what the heck, how about paying me now?"

Charlie gave Bob his best used-car salesman look. Bob started to agree...then caught
himself and laughed at Charlie.

"Nice try pal, but you agreed to play Santa for free. I wasn't born yesterday. A deal is a deal, we don't owe you a cent."

Charlie muffled a growl, then grinned innocently at Bob.

"Well you can't fault a guy for trying Bob. I guess you're just too smart for me. OK, how about you just loan me $100?"

Bob just laughed. "Sorry Charlie, you're probably a worse risk than those old folks are. I bet you don't have more than a dollar in your pocket, do you?"

Charlie gave Bob a confident look.

"Wrong answer Bob. I may not have a hundred bucks, but I've got lots more than a
dollar." He had one dollar and twelve cents to be exact. Charlie saw the old couple
walking towards the door, motioning Wendy to follow. His mind raced furiously, then an alternate plan hatched in his mind. He turned and gave Bob his most intimidating glare.

"I'll deal with you later, count on it," he hissed before turning and running across the lobby. Shannon's eyes were not the only ones in the room that were surprised by Santa's sudden urge to emulate an OJ Simpson commercial as Charlie leapt over a couch on a dead run towards her.

"Charlie what are you doing?" she whispered as he pulled up in front of her, his breathing coming just a bit heavy.

"Shannon, I can't explain now. There's no time. I need a favor?"
Shannon looked at Charlie, sizing him up for a moment before shaking her head.

"Of course, Charlie, if I can."

"Do you see those old folks and that cute little girl heading towards the door? I need you to stop them, stall them, keep them here until I get back?"

"Get back? Where are you going?"

"I just need to run home and grab something. I promise I'll explain later. I want you to think over a second favor while I'm gone too...lend me a hundred bucks?"

Before Shannon could say anything he turned and ran to the door before the old couple
could open it.

"Wait folks. You can't leave yet. Do you see that pretty girl standing over there? She needs to talk to you. I think you won the door prize or something."

Before they could reply, he winked at Wendy and ran out the door, leaving the old couple staring after him in confusion as Shannon walked over to greet them, just as confused as they were.

*****

From the vantage point of his fully windowed office above the lobby, bank president
Frank Talbot had been watching as his Santa Claus went berserk, then ran out of the
building.

"That darn Charlie," he thought out loud. "I knew we shouldn't have let that loose cannon play Santa Claus. That lout has been nothing but a pain in my neck as long as I've known him. I imagine I'd better go down and find out what's going on before I call the police. It would be best to keep this as quiet as possible. I spend money on these dog-and-pony shows for good publicity, not bad. I hope the moron doesn't come back with an Uzi and really ruin my Christmas."

Talbot thought about that as he walked down his carpeted private staircase.
"Maybe I'd better call the cops anyway?"

*****

Charlie was out of breath after running the three blocks to his small bungalow, all uphill.
His beard was hanging halfway off his face, and the Santa costume was soaked with
sweat. He burst through the door and stopped, seeing what he came for immediately. He
quickly walked over to the buffet and picked up his small, one foot tall, artificial
Christmas tree, careful not to disturb any of the dozen small red ornaments he had
hanging from it. He didn't even shut the door as he walked quickly back into the dusky late afternoon, carefully balancing the tree as he made his way down the hill back to the bank.

*****

Shannon knew her boss had probably been watching everything from his office perch. He
was always watching, like a hawk looking for prey.

"Come to think of it, he even looks like a hawk."

She tried to act casual as he walked across the lobby toward her with a stern look on his
face. She hoped Charlie would get back soon, with a darn good story to boot.

"Ms. Smith, just what in the name of Michael is going on down here?"

Shannon hated the patronizing, scolding-father voice he always addressed her in. She
knew he thought of her as just a dumb blonde, and had only hired her because of her
looks. She didn't care. She was good at her job, and everyone else knew it. She didn't need his approval, but she did need the paycheck he signed, so she just did her job and let him think whatever he wanted.

"Well Mr. Talbot, it seems that Charlie had a sudden emergency, but I'm sure he'll be
right back."

Before she could continue, Bob the loan officer leaned over Talbot's shoulder and
whispered in his ear. Talbot's eyes grew wide as he listened.

"Call 911 now," he instructed before turning back to Shannon.

"Ms. Smith, Bob says that Charlie tried to extort money from this bank, and flew into a rage when Bob called his bluff."

"Mr. Talbot, I don't think Char..."

"There's no time to discuss this, Shannon. I think Charlie is going to come back with a gun and rob us. You know as well as I that men who fall on hard times, like Charlie, often get depressed, suicidal and violent this time of year. I want you to help escort all of the customers out of the bank. Bob is calling the police now. With any luck they'll catch

Charlie outside before he comes back."

Shannon opened her mouth to protest, but Talbot turned and began to walk away before
noticing Wendy and her grandparents sitting on the couch.

"I'm sorry folks, it's closing time now. It is Christmas Eve after all, and we'd like to get our employees home to enjoy Christmas with their families. Thank you so much for coming, and Merry Christmas."

Shannon felt helpless as Talbot ushered the Garcias to the door. Then the door opened
and her heart lifted, only to be disappointed when instead of Charlie, Police Chief Stan Sandoval and two SWAT team members burst through the open door. Despite her worry, she couldn't help but giggle at the serious looks on their faces.

The giggle turned into a laugh a few moments later as Charlie walked nonchalantly
through to door, unnoticed by anyone but her, balancing a tiny Christmas tree in his right hand. He walked right over to the Police Chief, still unnoticed by anyone as they exchanged frantic words. He tapped the Chief on the shoulder.

"What happened Stan, somebody rob the place?"

"Not yet Charlie...CHARLIE!"

Every eye in the room turned to Charlie. Talbot turned white, and almost fainted when
one of the SWAT officers leveled his M16 at Charlie and hollered, "FREEZE AND

DROP IT SCUMBAG!"

Charlie gave the young cop a momentary look, then turned to Chief Sandoval.

"You think you could call off your hound dawg there, Stan? Does he think I've got a gun hidden in this itty-bitty Christmas tree...or does he just have some kind of sick

Santa/Rambo thing goin' on?"

Chief Sandoval had an amused, but pained look on his face as he turned to his young
officer.

"Carl, put the darn gun down. You ain't even bright enough to realize I never gave you any bullets for that thing."

He turned to Charlie and rolled his eyes. "Kids."

Charlie just grinned.

"So what's going on here, Stan? Why all the hardware?"

Sandoval looked at Charlie seriously.

"Mr. Talbot says you got into a mad rage and stormed out, threatening to come back with a gun and kill everyone."

Charlie laughed a belly laugh that would make the real Santa proud, then looked over at the still ill-looking Talbot.

"Hi, Frank! Funny I don't remember you even being down here with the rest of us peons
all day, let alone talking to you. Where did you get such a fool idea? I just ran home to get this little Christmas tree. I promise it won't hurt you, unless you're allergic to little fake trees? Perhaps someone spiked your eggnog...you don't look so good."

Talbot glared at Charlie.

"I didn't think any such thing. I just got bad information from a moron who used to work for me...Bob?"

Bob deflated like a balloon as every eye turned to him. Talbot felt more in control now.

"You're fired, Bob."

Bob collapsed into a chair, dumbfounded at his sudden misfortune. Charlie looked over at him and winked.

"Merry Christmas, Bob. Good thing you didn't loan me that money, seems you might be
needing it."

Bob ignored the comment and sulked. Chief Sandoval looked around the room and
motioned to his officers.

"Well, it looks like there's nothing for us to do here. Carl, Kevin, you boys had best git home and put them guns up before you hurt yourselves. I promise you'll get to play commando again soon. In the meantime, those cookies over there look like some kind of contraband...I'd better taste them to be certain though"

"I think I'll join you Chief." Talbot took the Chief by the arm and led him to the
refreshment table, talking to him like a long lost son each step of the way.

"...have I told you what a great job your department is doing..."

Shannon walked over to Charlie, her eyes still moist from laughing at the ludicrous
events. He avoided her eyes as she stood in front of him, looking him over with a smile on her face. She took his chin gently into her hand and raised his head, looking him in the eye with amusement.

"So cowboy, you still haven't told me what this is all about. Why did you go home to get that cheap, but cute, little Kmart tree?"

Charlie grinned sheepishly, but before he could answer a young voice piped out from
below them.

"It's for me!"

Charlie and Shannon looked down to see little Wendy, staring at the tree in Charlie's
hand, her eyes wide with excitement. Shannon looked at Charlie, her eyes soft and moist.

"Is that what this is all about?"

Charlie looked into Shannon's eyes, and she could see that his were a bit moist as well, not to mention the cat-that-ate-the-canary grin on his face.

"She's never had a tree, and she wanted a small one. I figured this little thing of mine was perfect for her. Her grandparents had no money to buy her any presents, and your bank wouldn't loan them a measly hundred bucks. I sure don't have a hundred bucks, but I had this tree. I couldn't let that cute, young gal go home empty handed."

"That's what you wanted the hundred dollars for...to give to them?"

"Yep," Charlie was embarrassed, "I'll pay you back, you know I will."

Shannon was silent for a moment, then looked at Charlie sternly.

"No, Charlie."

"No?"

"No, I won't lend you the money." Her stern look melted into a big smile, "But I will give it to them, as my Christmas gift."

Charlie was speechless, and before he could utter a word Shannon reached over and
kissed him lightly on the cheek, before walking over to where the elder Garcias were still sitting. Mr. and Mrs. Garcia exchanged a look as she approached, both wondering if this bank was loco all the time. Charlie sighed, then knelt down next to Wendy.

"Is this tree OK, darlin?"

"Oh yes Santa, it's just the best tree I've ever seen, it's perfect!" Charlie smiled.

"Sweetie, I gotta tell ya, I'm not really Santa Claus."

Wendy just grinned as she hugged Charlie tight, giving him a kiss on the well-disheveled beard before whispering, "Oh yes you are." Charlie's heart melted. He returned her hug and wished her a very Merry Christmas.

"Santa had better be going now. You don't want me to be late tonight do you?"

Wendy looked at him sadly, but smiled.

"Well you don't have to come to my house, Santa, you've already given me the best

Christmas present I've ever had. I love you."

Charlie smiled, trying to control the tears welling up in his eyes as he turned and walked towards the door. Shannon was busy trying to convince the Garcias to accept the crisp new 100-dollar bill in her hand, and didn't notice as he walked out the door and into the crisp Raton night.

*****

As Charlie shuffled up the walk to his house, he noticed that he had left the door standing wide open.

"With my luck I probably got robbed by now."

He dismissed the thought quickly. They didn't have many burglaries in a town like Raton, and many people never bothered locking their doors. He also noticed that his dog Jake was quiet out in the back yard. He'd have been barking up a storm had someone been in the house.

Charlie walked in the door and fumbled for the light switch. When the light came on he started for the back door to let Jake inside, but stopped almost immediately. He took a step backward and turned the light switch back off, rubbing his eyes in the darkness for a moment before turning it back on. He thought he might have been seeing things the first time, but he was wrong.

In the corner of the living room stood a six-foot tall Christmas tree, decorated to the hilt, a small angel dressed in silk perched at the top. Charlie walked closer to the tree, dumbfounded. He spotted a note wedged between a few branches. He took the note and unfolded it.

People always ask me how I can be everywhere at once on Christmas Eve. I usually just
give them a grin and a wink, but the truth is that people like you are the reason. You are the "real" Santa Claus, Charlie. Merry Christmas! Kris Kringle

Charlie read the note a dozen times before shaking his head with a chuckle, walking to the back door to let the dog in.

"Thanks, Santa." He whispered.

*****
Jake, a large black Labrador, lay curled at Charlie's feet, sleeping contentedly now that the only master he had ever known was home, where he belonged. Charlie sat on the couch, staring at the photos of his kids on the wall, tears in his eyes. The biggest regret in his life was the fact that he couldn't be there to watch his children grow into fine young adults, to help them through the pains of growing up. He especially missed them at Christmas. He remembered how their eyes would light up when they awoke on Christmas morning to find that Santa had visited once again.

Charlie sighed and turned his stare to the blank TV screen. He'd usually be watching a Christmas classic like "It's a Wonderful Life", or "Miracle on 34th Street", but he couldn't afford to keep the cable hook up. He had a VCR, but didn't even have enough money to rent a movie. He'd been contemplating selling the TV and VCR too, but knew he'd be lucky to get 20 dollars for either of them.

Charlie was starting to doze off when a knock on the door and Jake's sharp bark alerted him. He stood and yawned, momentarily not sure of his surroundings. He walked to the door trying to shake the cobwebs out of his head. When Charlie opened the door he did a double take, and rubbed his eyes. A large fir tree took up the entire doorway, then moved slightly to the side revealing the bright smiling face of Shannon Smith.

"Are you going to make the kids and I stand here holding this tree, Charlie, or are you going to help us get it inside?"

Now fully awake, Charlie took charge of the tree, dragging it into the house, followed by Shannon's young son and daughter, each carrying an armload of packages while their mother went back to the car to grab some more. They gave Charlie a funny look when they spied the decorated Christmas tree, but Charlie motioned for them to keep silent. He propped the tree into a corner and ran out after Shannon in his bare feet.

"What are you doing here Shannon?" he asked, thinking he sounded awfully rude.
Shannon stood and looked at him for a moment with a smile, her eyes bright, then she
began stacking packages into his arms.

"Well Charlie, since you went and gave away your Christmas tree, I figured you might
need another one. Of course I couldn't trust you to decorate it properly, so I had to get some ornaments and tinsel for it too. You have had a long day though, and I didn't want you to wear yourself out decorating the tree by yourself, so the kids and I decided we should help you. Since it might take awhile, and you probably didn't eat tonight, I brought some food and snacks, and even some nice old Christmas movies."

Shannon paused and reached back into the car. The mountain of bags and boxes she had
stacked into his arms hid Charlie's face.

"Of course it's been a long day for me too, so I brought this to help take the edge off!"
Shannon was still smiling as she raised a bottle of wine so Charlie could see it through the mountain of packages.

"Shannon, I gotta tell you something..."

"Shh Charlie, not while you're holding all of that stuff. Take it into the house and then come back to help me with just one more thing."

Charlie dutifully carried the load into the house, deposited the packages, and walked back out the door. Shannon stood in the middle of the walk, her hands behind her back.

"C'mere cowboy, I've got something for you."

Charlie walked to her, still confused and a bit in shock. His confused look soon grew into a big grin as Shannon removed her hand from behind her back, holding a small piece of mistletoe. She held it over her head and grinned mischievously at Charlie.

"Now you have to kiss me Charlie...it's the law. You don't want me to have to call the SWAT team do you?"

Charlie took Shannon gently into his arms, confusion still all over his face. When they kissed, all confusion disappeared.

They stood and looked into each other's eyes for a moment, then were interrupted by a
timid question from Shannon's son, standing in the doorway.

"Mom? Why did we bring a Christmas tree when he already has one?"
Now it was Shannon's turn to be confused as she looked back up at Charlie.

"I thought you didn't have a tree, Charlie."

Charlie grinned sheepishly "I didn't."

"Did someone else bring you a tree before I did?"
Charlie began laughing, and Shannon could not help but notice that his eyes were
laughing as well.

"Yes darlin, somebody got here before you did."

"Well? Who was it?"

"The note said Kris."

"Chris? Chrissy Morgan from the bank? I always knew she was after you."

Charlie was beginning to enjoy this game.

"No, not Chrissy Morgan."

"Well tell me who then?"

Charlie continued to be teasingly evasive and she kept grilling him with questions as they walked into the house, hand in hand, their eyes never leaving each other. The distant tingle of sleigh bells drifted on the cold night wind as Charlie closed the door.

By Daniel 'Chip' Ciammaichella

Click here for more Christmas Stories

Little Gretchen and Wooden Shoe - A Short Childrens Christmas Story

Click here to read an article about the importance of reflecting on Christmas stories after reading them.

The following story is one of many which has drifted down to us from the story-loving nurseries and hearthstones of Germany. I cannot recall when I first had it told to me as a child, varied, of course, by different tellers, but always leaving that sweet, tender impression of God's loving care for the least of his children. I have since read different versions of it in at least a half-dozen story books for
children.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, far away across the great ocean, in a country called Germany, there could be seen a small log hut on the edge of a great forest, whose fir-trees extended for miles and miles to the north. This little house, made of heavy hewn logs, had but one room in it. A rough pine door gave entrance to this room, and a small square window admitted the light. At the back of the house was built an old-fashioned stone chimney, out of which in winter usually curled a
thin, blue smoke, showing that there was not very much fire within.

Small as the house was, it was large enough for the two people who lived in it. I want to tell you a story to-day about these two people. One was an old, gray-haired woman, so old that the little children of the village, nearly half a mile away, often wondered whether she had come into the world with the huge mountains, and the great fir-trees, which stood like giants back of her small hut. Her face was wrinkled
all over with deep lines, which, if the children could only have read aright, would have told them of many years of cheerful, happy, self-sacrifice, of loving, anxious watching beside sick-beds, of quiet endurance of pain, of many a day of hunger and cold, and of a thousand deeds of unselfish love for other people; but, of course, they could not read this strange handwriting. They only knew that she was old and
wrinkled, and that she stooped as she walked. None of them seemed to fear her, for her smile was always cheerful, and she had a kindly word for each of them if they chanced to meet her on her way to and from the village. With this old, old woman lived a very little girl. So bright and happy was she that the travellers who passed by the lonesome little house on the edge of the forest often thought of a sunbeam as they saw her. These two people were known in the village as Granny Goodyear and
Little Gretchen.

The winter had come and the frost had snapped off many of the smaller branches from the pine-trees in the forest. Gretchen and her Granny were up by daybreak each morning. After their simple breakfast of oatmeal, Gretchen would run to the little closet and fetch Granny's old woollen shawl, which seemed almost as old as Granny herself. Gretchen always claimed the right to put the shawl over her Granny's head, even though she had to climb onto the wooden bench to do it. After carefully
pinning it under Granny's chin, she gave her a good-bye kiss, and Granny started out for her morning's work in the forest. This work was nothing more nor less than the gathering up of the twigs and branches which the autumn winds and winter frosts had thrown upon the ground. These were carefully gathered into a large bundle which Granny tied together with a strong linen band. She then managed to lift the bundle
to her shoulder and trudged off to the village with it. Here she sold the fagots for kindling wood to the people of the village. Sometimes she would get only a few pence each day, and sometimes a dozen or more, but on this money little Gretchen and she managed to live; they had their home, and the forest kindly furnished the wood for the fire which kept them warm in cold weather.

In the summer time Granny had a little garden at the back of the hut where she raised, with little Gretchen's help, a few potatoes and turnips and onions. These she carefully stored away for winter use. To this meagre supply, the pennies, gained by selling the twigs from the forest, added the oatmeal for Gretchen and a little black coffee for Granny. Meat was a thing they never thought of having. It cost too much money. Still, Granny and Gretchen were very happy, because they loved
each other dearly. Sometimes Gretchen would be left alone all day long in the hut, because Granny would have some work to do in the village after selling her bundle of sticks and twigs. It was during these long days that little Gretchen had taught herself to sing the song which the wind sang to the pine branches. In the summer time she learned the chirp and twitter of the birds, until her voice might almost be
mistaken for a bird's voice; she learned to dance as the swaying shadows did, and even to talk. to the stars which shone through the little square window when Granny came home too late or too tired to talk.

Sometimes, when the weather was fine, or her Granny had an extra bundle of newly knitted stockings to take to the village, she would let little Gretchen go along with her. It chanced that one of these trips to the town came just the week before Christmas, and Gretchen's eyes were delighted by the sight of the lovely Christmas-trees which stood in the window of the village store. It seemed to her that she would never tire of looking at the knit dolls, the woolly lambs, the little wooden shops with their queer, painted men and women in them, and all the other fine
things. She had never owned a plaything in her whole life; therefore, toys which you and I would not think much of, seemed to her to be very beautiful.

That night, after their supper of baked potatoes was over, and little Gretchen had cleared away the dishes and swept up the hearth, because Granny dear was so tired, she brought her own small wooden stool and placed it very near Granny's feet and sat down upon it, folding her hands on her lap. Granny knew that this meant she wanted to talk about something, so she smilingly laid away the large Bible which she had
been reading, and took up her knitting, which was as much as to say: "Well, Gretchen, dear, Granny is ready to listen."

"Granny," said Gretchen slowly, "it's almost Christmas time, isn't it?"

"Yes, dearie," said Granny, "only five more days now," and then she sighed, but little Gretchen was so happy that she did not notice Granny's sigh.

"What do you think, Granny, I'll get this Christmas?" said she, looking up eagerly into Granny's face.

"Ah, child, child," said Granny, shaking her head, "you'll have no Christmas this year. We are too poor for that."

"Oh, but, Granny," interrupted little Gretchen, "think of all the beautiful toys we saw in the village to-day. Surely Santa Claus has sent enough for every little child."

"Ah, dearie," said Granny, "those toys are for people who can pay money for them, and we have no money to spend for Christmas toys."

"Well, Granny," said Gretchen, "perhaps some of the little children who live in the great house on the hill at the other end of the village will be willing to share some of their toys with me. They will be so glad to give some to a little girl who has none."

"Dear child, dear child," said Granny, leaning forward and stroking the soft, shiny hair of the little girl, "your heart is full of love. You would be glad to bring a Christmas to every child; but their heads are so full of what they are going to get that they forget all about anybody else but themselves." Then she sighed and shook her head.

"Well, Granny," said Gretchen, her bright, happy tone of voice growing a little less joyous, "perhaps the dear Santa Claus will show some of the village children how to make presents that do not cost money, and some of them may surprise me Christmas morning with a present. And, Granny, dear," added she, springing up from her low stool, "can't I gather some of the pine branches and take them to the old sick man who lives in the house by the mill, so that he can have the sweet smell of our pine forest in his room all Christmas day?"

"Yes, dearie," said Granny, "you may do what you can to make the Christmas bright and happy, but you must not expect any present yourself."

"Oh, but, Granny," said little Gretchen, her face brightening, "you forget all about the shining Christmas angels, who came down to earth and sang their wonderful song the night the beautiful Christ-Child was born! They are so loving and good that they will not forget any little child. I shall ask my dear stars to-night to tell them of us. You know," she added, with a look of relief, "the stars are so very high
that they must know the angels quite well, as they come and go with their messages from the loving God."

Granny sighed, as she half whispered, "Poor child, poor child!" but Gretchen threw her arm around Granny's neck and gave her a hearty kiss, saying as she did so: "Oh, Granny, Granny, you don't talk to the stars often enough, else you wouldn't be sad at Christmas time." Then she danced all around the room, whirling her little skirts about her to show Granny how the wind had made the snow dance that day. She looked
so droll and funny that Granny forgot her cares and worries and laughed with little Gretchen over her new snow-dance. The days passed on, and the morning before Christmas Eve came. Gretchen having tidied up the little room--for Granny had taught her to be a careful little housewife--was off to the forest, singing a birdlike song, almost as happy and free as the birds themselves. She was very busy that day,
preparing a surprise for Granny. First, however, she gathered the most beautiful of the fir branches within her reach to take the next morning to the old sick man who lived by the mill. The day was all too short for the happy little girl. When Granny came trudging wearily home that night, she found the frame of the doorway covered with green pine branches.

"It's to welcome you, Granny! It's to welcome you!" cried Gretchen; "our old dear home wanted to give you a Christmas welcome. Don't you see, the branches of evergreen make it look as if it were smiling all over, and it is trying to say, 'A happy Christmas' to you, Granny!"

Granny laughed and kissed the little girl, as they opened the door and went in together. Here was a new surprise for Granny. The four posts of the wooden bed, which stood in one corner of the room, had been trimmed by the busy little fingers, with smaller and more flexible branches of the pine-trees. A small bouquet of red mountain-ash berries stood at each side of the fireplace, and these, together with the trimmed posts of the bed, gave the plain old room quite a festival look. Gretchen
laughed and clapped her hands and danced about until the house seemed full of music to poor, tired Granny, whose heart had been sad as she turned toward their home that night, thinking of the disappointment which must come to loving little Gretchen the next morning.

After supper was over little Gretchen drew her stool up to Granny's side, and laying her soft, little hands on Granny's knee, asked to be told once again the story of the coming of the Christ-Child; how the night that he was born the beautiful angels had sung their wonderful song, and how the whole sky had become bright with a strange and glorious light, never seen by the people of earth before. Gretchen had
heard the story many, many times before, but she never grew tired of it, and now that Christmas Eve had come again, the happy little child wanted to hear it once more.

When Granny had finished telling it the two sat quiet and silent for a little while thinking it over; then Granny rose and said that it was time for them to go to bed. She slowly took off her heavy wooden shoes, such as are worn in that country, and placed them beside the hearth. Gretchen looked thoughtfully at them for a minute or two, and then she said, "Granny, don't you think that somebody in all this wide world
will think of us to-night?"

"Nay, Gretchen," said Granny, "I don't think any one will."

"Well, then, Granny," said Gretchen, "the Christmas angels will, I know; so I am going to take one of your wooden shoes, and put it on the windowsill outside, so that they may see it as they pass by. I am sure the stars will tell the Christmas angels where the shoe is."

"Ah, you foolish, foolish child," said Granny, "you are only getting ready for a disappointment To-morrow morning there will be nothing whatever in the shoe. I can tell you that now."

But little Gretchen would not listen. She only shook her head and cried out: "Ah, Granny, you don't talk enough to the stars." With this she seized the shoe, and, opening the door, hurried out to place it on the windowsill. It was very dark without, and something soft and cold seemed to gently kiss her hair and face. Gretchen knew by this that it was snowing, and she looked up to the sky, anxious to see if the stars were in sight, but a strong wind was tumbling the dark, heavy
snow-clouds about and had shut away all else.

"Never mind," said Gretchen softly to herself, "the stars are up there, even if I can't see them, and the Christmas angels do not mind snowstorms."

Just then a rough wind went sweeping by the little girl, whispering something to her which she could not understand, and then it made a sudden rush up to the snow-clouds and parted them, so that the deep, mysterious sky appeared beyond, and shining down out of the midst of it was Gretchen's favourite star.

"Ah, little star, little star!" said the child, laughing aloud, "I knew you were there, though I couldn't see you. Will you whisper to the Christmas angels as they come by that little Gretchen wants so very much to have a Christmas gift to-morrow morning, if they have one to spare, and that she has put one of Granny's shoes upon the windowsill ready for it?"

A moment more and the little girl, standing on tiptoe, had reached the windowsill and placed the shoe upon it, and was back again in the house beside Granny and the warm fire.

The two went quietly to bed, and that night as little Gretchen knelt to pray to the Heavenly Father, she thanked him for having sent the Christ-Child into the world to teach all mankind how to be loving and unselfish, and in a few moments she was quietly sleeping, dreaming of the Christmas angels.

The next morning, very early, even before the sun was up, little Gretchen was awakened by the sound of sweet music coming from the village. She listened for a moment and then she knew that the choir-boys were singing the Christmas carols in the open air of the village street. She sprang up out of bed and began to dress herself as quickly as possible, singing as she dressed. While Granny was slowly
putting on her clothes, little Gretchen, having finished dressing herself, unfastened the door and hurried out to see what the Christmas angels had left in the old wooden shoe.

The white snow covered everything--trees, stumps, roads, and pastures--until the whole world looked like fairyland. Gretchen climbed up on a large stone which was beneath the window and carefully lifted down the wooden shoe. The snow tumbled off of it in a shower over the little girl's hands, but she did not heed that; she ran hurriedly back into the house, putting her hand into the toe of the shoe as she ran.

"Oh, Granny! Oh, Granny!" she exclaimed, "you didn't believe the Christmas angels would think about us, but see, they have, they have! Here is a dear little bird nestled down in the toe of your shoe! Oh, isn't he beautiful?"

Granny came forward and looked at what the child was holding lovingly in her hand. There she saw a tiny chick-a-dee, whose wing was evidently broken by the rough and boisterous winds of the night before, and who had taken shelter in the safe, dry toe of the old wooden shoe. She gently took the little bird out of Gretchen's hands, and skilfully bound his broken wing to his side, so that he need not hurt himself by
trying to fly with it. Then she showed Gretchen how to make a nice warm nest for the little stranger, close beside the fire, and when their breakfast was ready she let Gretchen feed the little bird with a few moist crumbs.

Later in the day Gretchen carried the fresh, green boughs to the old sick man by the mill, and on her way home stopped to see and enjoy the Christmas toys of some other children whom she knew, never once wishing that they were hers. When she reached home she found that the little bird had gone to sleep. Soon, however, he opened his eyes and stretched his head up, saying just as plain as a bird could say, "Now, my new friends, I want you to give me something more to eat." Gretchen gladly
fed him again, and then, holding him in her lap, she softly and gently stroked his gray feathers until the little creature seemed to lose all fear of her. That evening Granny taught her a Christmas hymn and told her another beautiful Christmas story. Then Gretchen made up a funny little story to tell to the birdie. He winked his eyes and turned his head from side to side in such a droll fashion that Gretchen laughed
until the tears came.

As Granny and she got ready for bed that night, Gretchen put her arms softly around Granny's neck, and whispered: "What a beautiful Christmas we have had to-day, Granny! Is there anything in the world more lovely than Christmas?"

"Nay, child, nay," said Granny, "not to such loving hearts as yours."

From "Christmastide," published by the Chicago Kindergarten College,
copyright 1902.

--ELIZABETH HARRISON--

Click here for more Christmas Stories

The Spirit of Raton - A Short Childrens Christmas Story

Click here to read an article about what it means to understand inspirational Christmas stories.


Silhouetted by the blackness of the storm clouds surrounding her, the majestic nowcapped peak of Sierra Grande towered over the volcanic plains of northeastern New
Mexico like a lonely sentry, seemingly keeping watch over a lone eighteen-wheeler that made its way west on the steel-gray ribbon of U.S. 87.

Mike could feel the mountain watching him has he guided the Peterbuilt through the
fading remnants of what little daylight the storm clouds had allowed to filter through. The cinder cone of Capulin Volcano rose like a black mirage as the dark clouds spewed forth a misty white blanket of snow, devouring all signs of the mountains to the west, and the mesa country to the north.

Mike knew the hazards of this stretch of U.S. 87 in the winter; he had been running
between Amarillo and Taos for a couple of years. On this night he was also in a hurry to get home to Taos, determined not to miss his first Christmas with his new wife and their baby boy. Despite the white nothingness ahead he pressed the accelerator and urged the Peterbuilt on, determined to cover as many miles as he could before meeting the storm. He reached up and turned the tuning knob on his stereo until the strains of "Little Town of Bethlehem" echoed clearly from KRTN in Raton, now only about 30 miles to the west.

Within minutes the first flakes of snow began to pepper the truck's windshield and gusts of wind began to buffet the cab. Soon the volume of snowfall increased along with the velocity of the wind, building into a full-blown blizzard. Despite not being able to see even the front of the truck, Mike pressed on through the whiteout conditions. He knew he should stop and wait for a lull in the storm, but one glance at the fuel gauge told him he did not have enough fuel to stop, still keep the engine running to provide both heat and light to warn any other vehicles of his presence, and still make it to the nearest fuel-stop in Raton.

As the cab began to yaw to the right, slipping off the shoulder of the road, he realized he should have just stopped. He jerked the steering wheel to the left and applied pressure to the accelerator, but it was too late. His corrective actions only caused the tractor and trailer to jack-knife. Before any profanity could escape from Mike's mouth, the truck crashed over on its side like a beached whale, throwing him across the cab to the passenger side that now rested on the snow-covered earth.

Except for his pride, Mike was unhurt. His first reaction was to grab the CB microphone, now dangling above his head, and call for help. He tried all forty channels, but his transmissions were met by only static. Disgusted, he kicked out the windshield, regretting it at once as the wind and snow began howling into the cab. Knowing he had just eliminated any option of staying in the truck, Mike climbed out carefully through the now missing windshield, and slid down the engine cover to the ground. The wind and snow blotted out the view of all but a few feet of the overturned truck, as Mike stumbled his way up the incline to the road, and made his way on foot towards Raton.

It didn't take long for Mike to realize the foolishness of trying to walk through the
blizzard. So far every decision he'd made had turned out to be the wrong one, and he
wondered if fate had decided that his time on this earth was over. The snow blinded him as he stumbled on, not even sure if he was going in the right direction. The white tempest that surrounded him gave no indication of dimension, and he couldn't even be sure of the ground below him as the cold rapidly made his feet numb. The sharp wind cut through his jacket and clothing, the cold penetrating to his bones. As if in a trance, Mike pressed on, until finally he stumbled and rolled down an embankment that bordered the road. He tried to regain his feet, but his legs didn't seem to work upon command. He felt tired, so very tired. He did not try to get back to his feet; instead he curled up and closed his eyes.

"I'll just rest here for a few minutes, then I'll start again," he thought to himself as he drifted into unconsciousness.

Mike felt warm and comfortable, and he could see his wife sitting at home on their wornout sofa, gently playing with their three-month old son. He felt quite content, until a voice cut through the fog and brought him back to consciousness.

"About time you woke up, son...I thought you might be dead."

Mike opened his eyes to find himself sitting on the passenger side of a car, covered with a blanket. As the interior of the car came into focus, he noticed the stack of radio equipment between the driver's and passenger seats, and the red "gumball" mounted on the dashboard. He began to wonder if this was a police or fire vehicle, but that was easily answered as he looked to his left. The man driving the car was obviously a policeman...the Raton Police patch on his right shoulder made that a no-brainer, but the man himself could have easily been a poster model for police officers. His hair and full mustache were mostly gray, but as he took his eyes off of the road to look at Mike, his glasses could not hide a youthful twinkling blue. His voice resonated with both authority and compassion as he spoke again.

"So how are you feeling? You know you're darned lucky I found you when I did, you
could have frozen to death."

"Yes, sir, I realize that, officer," Mike replied. "I guess I should have stayed with my truck...better yet I should have never tried to keep driving through this storm..." Mike hesitated, "...which brings up an interesting question. How and why are YOU driving through this storm? I can't even see the front of your car."

The police officer just chuckled. "I can see just fine. Would you rather I was back in Raton sipping coffee while you froze to death? Speaking of coffee, I have some in that thermos next to you...help yourself."

"Thanks, I will." He grabbed the thermos and poured the steaming hot liquid into the cap.

He took a sip and asked "So how did you find me, anyway?"

"Somebody saw you roll your truck and called it in."

"Don't the State Police usually handle stuff out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"Usually, but we all do what we can. There aren't enough of us to be everywhere at
anytime. Besides, I kind of enjoy a nice drive through a snowstorm. You weren't hard to find, you only made it about fifty feet from your truck, after walking in circles for a bit." He turned and grinned at Mike, who immediately took a liking to him. Mike wasn't a fan of cops, but this one seemed like a really nice fellow, the type of guy you couldn't help but like. After a minute or so the officer spoke again.
"I called ahead and got you a motel room. You can make any calls or arrangements you
need from there."

Mike thought about his wife and son. "I was hoping to find a rent-a-car and get home to Taos. My wife just had our first child recently, and I'd hate to miss my first Christmas with them."

"Sorry, son, but I doubt that you'll find a rent-a-car at this time of night on Christmas Eve. You're lucky you got me. Besides, the State Police have closed all the roads out of Raton, so even if you found a car you couldn't go anywhere. I doubt you'll be going home until the day after Christmas, but don't worry...if you have a little faith things might just work out."

Mike didn't reply. His face showed his disappointment as he turned to stare out the
passenger side window. "Do you have a family?"

The officer's voice softened. "Yes, I have the best wife in the world and we have three great children. We are together always, but I do know how it feels not to be with the ones you love. I also have two other children from my first marriage, and it hurts not to be able to spend time with them as well. My parents also live far away from Raton, so I don't see them as much as I'd like. The bottom line is simple, though. We have to live our lives under the circumstances that the Lord sees fit to bestow upon us, and make the best of it. Your wife and son love you, as you love them, and nothing can change that. Learn to appreciate what you have, and not dwell on the pitfalls fate throws your way... life is just too damn short."

Mike remained silent as the bright streetlights announced they were entering Raton. The police car continued on US 87 until coming to the light at the Main Street intersection, where they turned left and traveled another half-mile before turning into the Robin Hood Motel. Instead of going to the office, the officer pulled right up to the first row of rooms, and tossed a key to Mike.

"There you go. Everything is already set up for you, compliments of the City of Raton." Mike caught the key, amazed at the efficiency of this policeman. "You'd think you knew I was coming." he grinned as he got out of the patrol car.
"I did."

Mike turned and stared at the policeman. His blue eyes twinkled, but gave no other
indication that he was joking. Their eyes met for a moment.

"Seriously, I don't know how I can thank you, officer. I owe you my life."

"Anytime, son. You just be a little more careful driving next time, and take good care of your wife and baby. Maybe buy me a beer sometime when you're passing through." "I'll do that." Mike grinned as he shut the car door and stood back to watch the patrol car pull out into the street. The driving snow made it seem that the car merely faded and disappeared into the night.

Mike turned and placed the key into the door. It didn't occur to him to wonder why a light was already on in room 11, but as he opened the door he was met by the sight of his wife sitting on the bed, playing with their baby boy. He stood in the doorway, dumbfounded.

"Close the door, silly, do you want to give the baby a cold?" She lay the baby on the bed and rose to greet him as he closed the door.

"How did you get here...how did you know...?" He embraced her when she came to him,
still dumbfounded.

"I thought you sent him, dear?"

"Sent who?"

"That nice Raton police officer who came to Taos to bring me here to meet you. He told me you sent him because you were going to be delayed in Raton. He loaded all of our Christmas presents as well and even brought us that little tree in the corner. He really was a nice man...imagine driving all that way just to do a stranger a favor."

Mike remembered the police officer's words as he was getting out of the car and grinned.

"I think that policeman must be some kind of an angel." He recounted the night's events to his wife, who listened in wonder, grateful that he was all right and that they were together. Soon, the baby began fussing, and all attention turned to him. Mike didn't care to try to explain how or why this police officer had brought him together with his family for Christmas, he was just grateful that he had. He turned to his wife, and looked into her deep green eyes.

"Merry Christmas, darling."

Mike didn't even try to rent a car on Christmas day, but rather contented himself by
spending time with his family. They opened their presents under the small tree, and
walked to the High Country Kitchen restaurant next door for a wonderful Christmas
dinner. He'd never really spent much time in Raton, and he was amazed at the
friendliness of the people he met. One couple, hearing they had no vehicle, took them on a tour of the little town, showing off it's Christmas tree in Ripley Park, and the famous City of Bethlehem display in Climax Canyon. By the end of the day Mike was convinced that Raton was a town he would like to live in. The place seemed to overflow with magic and enchantment.

The day after Christmas Mike had no problem securing a rental car from a local car
dealership. Before going back to the motel to pick up his wife and son, he decided to drop into the police department so he could thank the officer who did so much for him. He walked into the lobby and approached the opening in the glass window where the dispatcher sat.

"I'd like to speak to one of your officers, to thank him for helping my family and I on Christmas Eve."

"No problem, sir." replied the dispatcher, "What was the officer's name?"

Mike gave the dispatcher a sheepish grin.

"I never did get his name. He was a tall fellow, with gray hair, glasses, and blue eyes.

Perhaps if I could just talk to the Chief?"

"One minute, sir." the dispatcher responded, picking up the telephone. "To your right, on the wall there, you may be able to recognize him from those pictures."

Mike surveyed the photos on the wall, but did not see the officer who had helped him. As he turned back to the dispatcher he noticed an 8 1/2 x 11 photograph sitting by itself in a corner of the room.

"No, I don't see his picture there, but that's him...there, in that picture in the corner."

The dispatcher looked confused for a moment. "What picture in the corner?" As she
turned to follow Mike's gaze, she dropped the telephone receiver abruptly. She did not turn around as the imposing uniformed figure of the police chief walked into the room.

"Hello sir, I'm Chief Marcus. What can I do for you?" He didn't notice his dispatcher, still staring at the photograph in the corner, her face as white as a sheet, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Hello Chief. I was just telling your dispatcher that I'd like to thank that officer over there for helping my family and I on Christmas Eve." He pointed to the picture in the corner.

The dispatcher remained froze.

The Chief turned to follow Mike's outstretched arm. He froze for a minute, and turned
back to Mike, anger burning in his eyes.

"I don't know what kind of a loony-tune you are, mister, but your joke is not funny at all.

You'd better leave now before I arrest you and throw away the key."

It was Mike's turn to be angry, as well as a bit confused. "Look Chief, I don't know what your problem is. I merely want to thank that officer for going above and beyond the call of duty by saving my life and bringing my family together for Christmas. I don't see anything funny about it. What the hell is the matter with you people? Please give my thanks to that officer, and I'll just get on home to Taos."

Mike stormed out of the building and got back into his car to leave. As he started the engine he heard a tap on his window and turned to see the police chief standing next to the car. He rolled the window down.

"What do you want? Are you going to give me a ticket or something?"

The anger had left the Chief's eyes, replaced by a look of great pain. "I'm sorry I blew up at you, sir...you obviously don't understand. Please, come back inside and tell me about what happened on Christmas Eve."

Mike met the Chief's gaze. Neither man spoke for a moment, until finally Mike shut off the engine and opened the car door. As the two men walked back into the building Mike recounted the events of Christmas Eve. The Chief listened without interruption. When they re-entered the building Mike noticed that the dispatcher had obviously been crying.

"That's what happened, Chief. You have one hell of an officer there. I owe him my life, and so much more."

The dispatcher could no longer control herself, and the Chief motioned her out of the
room. "I'll mind the store for a few minutes, Darla. Get yourself some coffee."

He remained silent for a few moments after she left the room, then he turned to face the picture of the officer. Mike noticed that the Chief's eyes were moist as well.

"Yes sir, he was indeed a fine officer... the best."

Mike was confused. "Was? Did something happen?"

The Chief took a deep breath, his voice cracked as he spoke. "That is Lt. Vinnie
Harrelson...he was one of my best officers as well as a good friend." He paused again
before continuing. "Vinnie died in a plane crash a few days before Christmas last year, along with his wife, three children and his father-in-law." No longer able to control his emotions, the Chief walked away into the recesses of the police department, leaving Mike alone.

It took a few moments for the Chief's words to sink in. Mike's own emotions began to
overcome him as he stared at the picture of Lt. Vinnie Harrelson. It might have been the tears welling up in his eyes, but it seemed like the officer's blue eyes twinkled at him from the photograph.

Author's Note: Although our friends Vinnie, Katie, Audrey, Erica and Ryan Harrelson no longer walk among us, their spirits will forever be a part of Raton and all who knew them, especially at Christmas.

--by Daniel 'Chip' Ciammaichella--

Click here for more Christmas Stories

The Spirit of Raton - A Short Childrens Christmas Story

The Star - A Short Childrens Christmas story

Click here to read an article about why Christmas stories can connect with anyone.

Once upon a time in a country far away from here, there lived a little girl named Ruth. Ruth's home was not at all like our houses, for she lived in a little tower on top of the great stone wall that surrounded the town of Bethlehem. Ruth's father was the hotel-keeper—the Bible says the "inn keeper." This inn was not at all
like our hotels, either. There was a great open yard, which was called the courtyard. All about this yard were little rooms and each traveler who came to the hotel rented one. The inn stood near the great stone wall of the city, so that as Ruth stood, one night, looking out of the tower window, she looked directly into the courtyard.
It was truly a strange sight that met her eyes. So many people were coming to the inn, for the King had made a law that every man should come back to the city where his father used to live to be counted and to pay his taxes. Some of the people came on the backs of camels, with great rolls of bedding and their dishes for
cooking upon the back of the beast. Some of them came on little donkeys, and on their backs too were the bedding and the dishes. Some of the people came walking—slowly; they were so tired. Many miles some of them had come. As Ruth looked down into the courtyard, she saw the camels being led to their places
by their masters, she heard the snap of the whips, she saw the sparks shoot up from the fires that were kindled in the courtyard, where each per[Pg 160]son was preparing his own supper; she heard the cries of the tired, hungry little children.
Presently her mother, who was cooking supper, came over to the window and said, "Ruthie, thou shalt hide in the house until all those people are gone. Dost thou understand?"
"Yes, my mother," said the child, and she left the window to follow her mother back to the stove, limping painfully, for little Ruth was a cripple. Her mother stooped suddenly and caught the child in her arms.
"My poor little lamb. It was a mule's kick, just six years ago, that hurt your poor back and made you lame."
"Never mind, my mother. My back does not ache today, and lately when the light of the strange new star has shone down upon my bed my back has felt so much stronger and I have felt so happy, as though I could climb upon the rays of the star and up, up into the sky and above the stars!"
Her mother shook her head sadly. "Thou art not likely to climb much, now or ever, but come, the supper is ready; let us go to find your father. I wonder what keeps him."
They found the father standing at the gate of the courtyard, talking to a man and woman who had just arrived.
The man was tall, with a long beard, and he led by a rope a snow white mule, on which sat the drooping figure of the woman. As Ruth and her mother came near, they heard the father say, "But I tell thee that there is no more room in the inn. Hast thou no friends where thou canst go to spend the night?" The man shook his head.
"No, none," he answered. "I care not for myself, but my poor wife." Little Ruth pulled at her mother's dress. "Mother, the oxen sleep out under the stars these warm nights and the straw in the caves is clean and warm; I have made a bed there for my little lamb."
Ruth's mother bowed before the tall man. "Thou didst hear the child. It is as she says—the straw is clean and warm." The tall man bowed his head. "We shall be very glad to stay," and he helped the sweet-faced woman down from the donkey's back and led her away to the cave stable, while the little Ruth and her mother
hurried up the stairs that they might send a bowl of porridge to the sweet-faced woman, and a sup of new That night when little Ruth lay down in her bed, the rays of the beautiful new star shone through the window more brightly than before. They seemed to soothe the tired aching shoulders. She fell asleep and dreamed that
the beautiful, bright star burst and out of it came countless angels, who sang in the night:
"Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth, good will to men." And then it was morning and her mother was bending over her and saying, "Awake, awake, little Ruth. Mother has something to tell thee." Then as the eyes
opened slowly—"The angels came in the night, little one, and left a Baby to lay beside your little white lamb in the manger."
That afternoon, Ruth went with her mother to the fountain. The mother turned aside to talk to the other women of the town about the strange things heard and seen the night before, but Ruth went on and sat down by the edge of the fountain. The child, was not frightened, [Pg 162]for strangers came often to the well, but
never had she seen men who looked like the three who now came towards her. The first one, a tall man with a long white beard, came close to Ruth and said, "Canst tell us, child, where is born he that is called the King of the Jews?"
"I know of no king," she answered, "but last night while the star was shining, the angels brought a baby to lie beside my white lamb in the manger." The stranger bowed his head. "That must be he. Wilt thou show us the way to Him, my child?" So Ruth ran and her mother led the three men to the cave and "when they saw the Child, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy, and opening their gifts, they presented unto Him gold, and frankincense and myrrh," with wonderful jewels, so that Ruth's mother's eyes shone with wonder, but little Ruth saw only the Baby, which lay asleep on its mother's breast.
"If only I might hold Him in my arms," she thought, but was afraid to ask.
After a few days, the strangers left Bethlehem, all but the three—the man, whose name was Joseph, and Mary, his wife, and the Baby. Then, as of old, little Ruth played about the courtyard and the white lamb frolicked at her side. Often she dropped to her knees to press the little woolly white head against her breast,
while she murmured: "My little lamb, my very, very own. I love you, lambie," and then together they would steal over to the entrance of the cave to peep in at the Baby, and always she thought, "If I only might touch his hand," but was afraid to ask. One night as she lay in her bed, she thought to herself: "Oh, I wish I had a [Pg
163]beautiful gift for him, such as the wise men brought, but I have nothing at all to offer and I love him so much." Just then the light of the star, which was nightly fading, fell across the foot of the bed and shone full upon the white lamb which lay asleep at her feet—and then she thought of something. The next morning she arose with her face shining with joy. She dressed carefully and with the white lamb held close to her breast, went slowly and painfully down the stairway and over to the door of the cave. "I have come," she said, "to worship Him, and I have brought Him—my white lamb." The mother smiled at the lame child, then she lifted the Baby from her breast and placed Him in the arms of the little maid who knelt at her feet.
A few days after, an angel came to the father, Joseph, and told him to take the Baby and hurry to the land of Egypt, for the wicked King wanted to do it harm, and so these three—the father, mother and Baby—went by night to the far country of Egypt. And the star grew dimmer and dimmer and passed away forever from the skies over Bethlehem, but little Ruth grew straight and strong and beautiful as the
almond trees in the orchard, and all the people who saw her were amazed, for Ruth was once a cripple.
"It was the light of the strange star," her mother said, but little Ruth knew it was the touch of the blessed Christ-Child, who was once folded against her heart.

--By Florence M. Kingsley--

Click here for more Christmas Stories

The Greatest of These - A Short Childrens Christmas Story

Click here to read an article about why Christmas stories can connect with anyone.


The outside door swung open suddenly, letting a cloud of steam into the small, hot kitchen. Charlie Moore, a milk pail in one hand, a lantern in the other, closed the door behind him with a bang, set the pail on the table and stamped the snow from his feet.

"There's the milk, and I near froze gettin' it," said he, addressing his partner, who was chopping potatoes in a pan on the stove.

"Dose vried bodadoes vas burnt," said the other, wielding his knife vigorously.

"Are, eh? Why didn't you watch 'em instead of readin' your old Scandinavian paper?" answered Charlie, hanging his overcoat and cap behind the door and laying his mittens under the stove to dry. Then he drew up a chair and with much exertion pulled off his heavy felt boots and stood them beside his mittens.

"Why didn't you shut the gate after you came in from town? The cows got out and went up to Roney's an' I had to chase 'em; 'tain't any joke runnin' round after cows such a night as this." Having relieved his mind of its grievance, Charlie sat down before the oven door, and, opening it, laid a stick of wood along its outer edge and thrust his feet into the hot interior, propping his heels against the stick.

"Look oud for dese har biscuits!" exclaimed his partner, anxiously.

"Oh, hang the biscuits!" was Charlie's hasty answer. "I'll watch 'em. Why didn't you?"

"Ay tank Ay fergit hem."

"Well, you don't want to forget. A feller forgot his clothes once, an' he got froze."

"Ay gass dose taller vas ketch in a sbring snowstorm. Vas dose biscuits done, Sharlie?"

"You bet they are, Nels," replied Charlie, looking into the pan.

"Dan subbar vas ready. Yom on!"

Nels picked up the frying-pan and Charlie the biscuits, and set them on the oilcloth-covered table, where a plate of butter, a jar of plum jelly, and a coffee-pot were already standing.

Outside the frozen kitchen window the snow-covered fields and meadows stretched, glistening and silent, away to the dark belt of timber by the river. Along the deep-rutted road in front a belated lumber-wagon passed slowly, the wheels crunching through the packed snow with a wavering, incessant shriek.

The two men hitched their chairs up to the table, and without ceremony helped themselves liberally to the steaming food. For a few moments they seemed oblivious to everything but the demands of hunger. The potatoes and biscuits disappeared with surprising rapidity, washed down by large drafts of coffee. These men, labouring steadily through the short daylight hours in the dry, cold air of the Dakota winter, were like engines whose fires had burned low--they were taking fuel. Presently, the first keen edge of appetite satisfied, they ate more slowly, and Nels, straightening up with a sigh, spoke:

"Ay seen Seigert in town ta-day. Ha vants von hundred fifty fer dose team."

"Come down, eh?" commented Charlie. "Well, they're worth that. We'd better take 'em, Nels. We'll need 'em in the spring if we break the north forty."

"Yas, et's a nice team," agreed Nels. "Ha vas driven ham ta-day."
"Is he haulin' corn?"

"Na; he had his kids oop gettin' Christmas bresents."

"Chris--By gracious! to-morrow's Christmas!"

Nels nodded solemnly, as one possessing superior knowledge. Charlie became thoughtful.

"We'll come in sort of slim on it here, I reckon, Nels. Christmas ain't right, somehow, out here. Back in Wisconsin, where I came from, there's where you get your Christmas!" Charlie spoke with the unswerving prejudice of mankind for the land of his birth.

"Yas, dose been right. En da ol' kontry dey havin' gret times Christmas."

Their thoughts were all bent now upon the holiday scenes of the past. As they finished the meal and cleared away and washed the dishes they related incidents of their boyhood's time, compared, reiterated, and embellished. As they talked they grew jovial, and laughed often.

"The skee broke an' you went over kerplunk, hey? Haw, haw! That reminds me of one time in Wisconsin--"

Something of the joyous spirit of the Christmastide seemed to have entered into this little farmhouse set in the midst of the lonely, white fields. In the hearts of these men, moving about in their dim-lighted room, was reechoed the joyous murmur of the great world without: the gayety of the throngs in city streets, where the brilliant shop-windows, rich with holiday spoils, smile out upon the passing
crowd, and the clang of street-cars and roar of traffic mingle with the cries of street-venders. The work finished, they drew their chairs to the stove, and filled their pipes, still talking.

"Well, well," said Charlie, after the laugh occasioned by one of Nels' droll stories had subsided. "It's nice to think of those old times. I'd hate to have been one of these kids that can't have any fun. Christmas or any other time,"

"Ay gass dere ain't anybody much dot don'd have someding dis tams a year."

"Oh, yes, there are, Nels! You bet there are!"

Charlie nodded at his partner with serious conviction.

"Now, there's the Roneys," he waved his pipe over his shoulder. "The old man told me to-night when I was up after the cows that he's sold all the crops except what they need for feedin'--wheat, and corn, and everything, and some hogs besides--and ain't got hardly enough now for feed and clothes for all that family. The rent and the lumber he had to buy to build the new barn after the old one burnt ate up the money like fury. He kind of laughed, and said he guessed the children wouldn't get
much Christmas this year. I didn't think about it's being so close when he told me."

"No Christmas!" Nels' round eyes widened with astonishment. "Ay tank dose been pooty bad!" He studied the subject for a few moments, his stolid face suddenly grown thoughtful. Charlie stared at the stove. Far away by the river a lonely coyote set up his quick, howling yelp.

"Dere's been seven kids oop dere," said Nels at last, glancing up as it for corroboration.

"Yes, seven," agreed Charlie.

"Say, do ve need Seigert's team very pad?"

"Well, now that depends," said Charlie. "Why not?"

"Nothin', only Ay vas tankin' ve might tak' some a das veat we vas goin' to sell and--and--"

"Yep, what?"

"And dumb it on Roney's granary floor to-night after dere been asleeb."

Charlie stared at his companion for a moment in silence. Then he rose, and, approaching Nels, examined his partner's face with solemn scrutiny.

"By the great horn spoon," he announced, finally, "you've got a head on you like a balloon, my boy! Keep on gettin' ideas like that, and you'll land in Congress or the poor-farm before many years!"

Then, abandoning his pretense of gravity, he slapped the other on the back.

"Why didn't I think of that? It's the best yet. Seigert's team? Oh, hang Seigert's team. We don't need it. We'll have a little merry Christmas out of this yet. Only they mustn't know where it came from. I'll write a note and stick it under the door, 'You'll find some merry wheat--'No, that ain't it. 'You'll find some wheat in the granary to give the kids a merry Christmas with,' signed, 'Santa Claus.'"

He wrote out the message in the air with a pointing forefinger. He had entered into the spirit of the thing eagerly.

"It's half-past nine now," he went on, looking at the clock. "It'll be eleven time we get the stuff loaded and hauled up there. Let's go out and get at it. Lucky the bobs are on the wagon; they don't make such a racket as wheels."

He took the lantern from its nail behind the door and lighted it, after which he put on his boots, cap, and mittens, and flung his overcoat across his shoulders. Nels, meanwhile, had put on his outer garments, also.

"Shut up the stove, Nels." Charlie blew out the light and opened the door. "There, hang it!" he exclaimed, turning back. "I forgot the note. Ought to be in ink, I suppose. Well, never mind now; we won't put on any style about it."

He took down a pencil from the shelf, and, extracting a bit of wrapping paper from a bundle behind the woodbox, wrote the note by the light of the lantern.

"There, I guess that will do," he said, finally. "Come on!"

Outside, the night air was cold and bracing, and in the black vault of the sky the winter constellations flashed and throbbed. The shadows of the two men, thrown by the lantern, bobbed huge and grotesque across the snow and among the bare branches of the cottonwoods, as they moved toward the barn.

"Ay tank ve put on dose extra side poards and make her an even fifty pushel," said Nels, after they had backed the wagon up to the granary door. "Ve might as vell do it oop right, skence ve're at it."

Having carried out this suggestion, the two shovelled steadily, with short intervals of rest, for three quarters of an hour, the dark pile of grain in the wagon-box rising gradually until it stood flush with the top.

Good it was to look upon, cold and soft and yielding to the touch, this heaped-up wealth from the inexhaustible treasure-house of the mighty West. Charlie and Nels felt something of this as they viewed the results of their labours for a moment before hitching up the team.

"It's A number one hard," said Charlie, picking up a handful and sifting it slowly through his fingers, "and it'll fetch seventy-four cents. But you can't raise any worse on this old farm of ours if you try," he added, a little proudly. "Nor anywhere else in the Jim River Valley, for that matter."

As they approached the Roney place, looking dim and indistinct in the darkness, their voices hushed apprehensively, and the noise of the sled-runners slipping through the snow seemed to them to increase from a purr to a roar.

"Here, stob a minute!" whispered Nels, in agony of discovery. "Ve're magin' an awful noise. Ay'll go und take a beek."

He slipped away and cautiously approached the house. "Et's all right," he whispered, hoarsely, returning after a moment; "dere all asleeb. But go easy; Ay tank ve pest go easy." They seemed burdened all at once with the consciences of criminals, and went forward with almost guilty timidity.

"Thunder, dere's a bump! Vy don'd you drive garefuller, Sharlie?"

"Drive yourself, if you think you can do any better!" As they came into the yard a dog suddenly ran out from the barn, barking furiously. Charlie reined up with an ejaculation of despair; "Look there, the dog! We're done for now, sure! Stop him, Nels! Throw somethin' at 'im!"

The noise seemed to their excited ears louder than the crash of artillery. Nels threw a piece of snow crust. The dog ran back a few steps, but his barking did not diminish.

"Here, hold the lines. I'll try to catch 'im." Charlie jumped from the wagon and approached the dog with coaxing words: "Come, doggie, good doggie, nice boy, come!"

His manoeuvre, however, merely served to increase the animal's frenzy. As Charlie approached the dog retired slowly toward the house, his head thrown back, and his rapid barking increased to a long-drawn howl.

"Good boy, come! Bother the brute! He'll wake up the whole household! Nice doggie! Phe-e--"

The noise, however, had no apparent effect upon the occupants of the house. All remained as dark and silent as ever.

"Sharlie, Sharlie, let him go!" cried Nels, in a voice smothered with laughter. "Ay go in dose parn; maype ha'll chase me."

His hope was well founded. The dog, observing this treacherous occupation by the enemy of his last harbour of refuge, gave pursuit and disappeared within the door, which Charlie, hard behind him, closed with a bang. There was the sound of a hurried scuffle within. The dog's barking gave place to terrified whinings, which in turn were suddenly quenched to a choking murmur.

"Gome in, Sharlie, kvick!"

"You got him?" queried Charlie, opening the door cautiously. "Did he bite you?"

"Na, yust ma mitten. Gat a sack or someding da die him oop in."

A sack was procured from somewhere, into which the dog, now silenced from sheer exhaustion and fright, was unceremoniously thrust, after which the sack was tied and flung into the wagon. This formidable obstacle overcome and the Roneys still slumbering peacefully, the rest was easy. The granary door was pried open and the wheat shovelled hurriedly in upon the empty floor. Charlie then crept up to the house
and slipped his note under the door.

The sack was lifted from the now empty wagon and opened before the barn, whereupon its occupant slipped meekly out and retreated at once to a far corner, seemingly too much incensed at his discourteous treatment even to fling a volley of farewell barks at his departing captors.

"Vell," remarked Nels, with a sigh of relief as they gained the road, "Ay tank dose Roneys pelieve en Santa Claus now. Dose peen funny vay fer Santa Claus to coom."

Charlie's laugh was good to hear. "He didn't exactly come down the chimney, that's a fact, but it'll do at a pinch. We ought to have told them to get a present for the dog--collar and chain. I reckon he wouldn't hardly be thankful for it, though, eh?"

"Ay gass not. Ha liges ta haf hes nights ta hemself."

"Well, we had our fun, anyway. Sort of puts me in mind of old Wisconsin, somehow."

From far off over the valley, with its dismantled cornfields and snow-covered haystacks, beyond the ice-bound river, floated slow, and sonorous, the mellow clanging of church bells. They were ushering in the Christmas morn. Overhead the starlit heavens glistened, brooding and mysterious, looking down with luminous, loving eyes upon these humble sons of men doing a good deed, from the impulse of simple, generous hearts, as upon that other Christmas morning, long ago, when
the Jewish shepherds, guarding their flocks by night, read in their shining depths that in Bethlehem of Judea the Christ-Child was born.

The rising sun was touching the higher hilltops with a faint rush of crimson the next morning when the back door of the Roney house opened with a creak, and Mr. Roney, still heavy-eyed with sleep, stumbled out upon the porch, stretched his arms above his head, yawned, blinked at the dazzling snow, and then shambled off toward the barn. As he approached, the dog ran eagerly out, gambolled meekly around his feet
and caressed his boots. The man patted him kindly.

"Hello, old boy! What were you yappin' around so for last night, huh? Grain-thieves? You needn't worry about them. There ain't nothin' left for them to steal. No, sir! If they got into that granary they'd have to take a lantern along to find a pint of wheat. I don't suppose," he added, reflectively, "that I could scrape up enough to feed the chickens this mornin', but I guess I might's well see."

He passed over to the little building. What he saw when he looked within seemed for a moment to produce no impression upon him whatever. He stared at the hillock of grain in motionless silence. Finally Mr. Roney gave utterance to a single word, "Geewhilikins!" and started for the house on a run. Into the kitchen, where his wife was just starting the fire, the excited man burst like a whirlwind.

"Come out here, Mary!" he cried. "Come out here, quick!"

The worthy woman, unaccustomed to such demonstrations, looked at him in amazement.

"For goodness sake, what's come over you, Peter Roney?" she exclaimed. "Are you daft? Don't make such a noise! You'll wake the young ones, and I don't want them waked till need be, with no Christmas for 'em, poor little things!"

"Never mind the young 'uns," he replied. "Come on!"

As they passed out he noticed the slip of paper under the door and picked it up, but without comment.

He charged down upon the granary, his wife, with a shawl over her head, close behind.

She peered in, apprehensively at first, then with eyes of widening wonder.

"Why, Peter!" she said, turning to him. "Why, Peter! What does--I thought--"

"You thought!" he broke in. "Me, too. But it ain't so. It means that we've got some of the best neighbours that ever was, a thinkin' of our young 'uns this way! Read that!" and he thrust the paper into her hand.

"Why, Peter!" she ejaculated again, weakly. Then suddenly she turned, and laying her head on his shoulder, began to sob softly.

"There, there," he said, patting her arm awkwardly.

"Don't you go and cry now. Let's just be thankful to the good Lord for puttin' such fellers into the world as them fellers down the road. And now you run in and hurry up breakfast while I do up the chores. Then we'll hitch up and get into town 'fore the stores close. Tell the young 'uns Santy didn't get round last night with their things, but we've got word to meet him in town. Hey? Yes, I saw just the kind of sled Pete wants when I was up yesterday, and that china doll for Mollie. Yes,
tell 'em anything you want. Twon't be too big. Santy Claus has come to Roney's ranch this year, sure!"

This story was first printed in the Youth's Companion, vol. 76.

JOSEPH MILLS HANSON

Click here for more Christmas Stories

A Christmas Fairy - A Short Children's Christmas Story

Click here to read an article about what it means to understand inspirational Christmas stories.

It was getting very near to Christmas time, and all the boys at Miss Ware's school were talking about going home for the holidays.

"I shall go to the Christmas festival," said Bertie Fellows," and my mother will have a party, and my Aunt will give another. Oh! I shall have a splendid time at home."

"My Uncle Bob is going to give me a pair of skates," remarked Harry Wadham.

"My father is going to give me a bicycle," put in George Alderson.

"Will you bring it back to school with you?" asked Harry.

"Oh! yes, if Miss Ware doesn't say no."

"Well, Tom," cried Bertie, "where are you going to spend your holidays?"

"I am going to stay here," answered Tom in a very forlorn voice.

"Here--at school--oh, dear! Why can't you go home?"

"I can't go home to India," answered Tom.

"Nobody said you could. But haven't you any relatives anywhere?"

Tom shook his head. "Only in India," he said sadly.

"Poor fellow! That's hard luck for you. I'll tell you what it is, boys, if I couldn't go home for the holidays, especially at Christmas--I think I would just sit down and die."

"Oh, no, you wouldn't," said Tom. "You would get ever so homesick, but you wouldn't die. You would just get through somehow, and hope something would happen before next year, or that some kind fairy would--"

"There are no fairies nowadays," said Bertie.

"See here, Tom, I'll write and ask my mother to invite you to go home with me for the holidays."

"Will you really?"

"Yes, I will. And if she says yes, we shall have such a splendid time. We live in London, you know, and have lots of parties and fun."

"Perhaps she will say no?" suggested poor little Tom.

"My mother isn't the kind that says no," Bertie declared loudly.

In a few days' time a letter arrived from Bertie's mother. The boy opened it eagerly. It said:

My own dear Bertie:

I am very sorry to tell you that little Alice is ill with scarlet fever. And so you cannot come for your holidays. I would have been glad to have you bring your little friend with you if all had been well here.

Your father and I have decided that the best thing that you can do is to stay at Miss Ware's. We shall send your Christmas present to you as well as we can.

It will not be like coming home, but I am sure you will try to be happy, and make me feel that you are helping me in this sad time.

Dear little Alice is very ill, very ill indeed. Tell Tom that I am
sending you a box for both of you, with two of everything. And tell him
that it makes me so much happier to know that you will not be alone.

Your own mother.

When Bertie Fellows received this letter, which ended all his Christmas hopes and joys, he hid his face upon his desk and sobbed aloud. The lonely boy from India, who sat next to him, tried to comfort his friend in every way he could think of. He patted his shoulder and whispered many kind words to him.

At last Bertie put the letter into Tom's hands. "Read it," he sobbed.

So then Tom understood the cause of Bertie's grief. "Don't fret over it," he said at last. "It might be worse. Why, your father and mother might be thousands of miles away, like mine are. When Alice is better, you will be able to go home. And it will help your mother if she thinks you are almost as happy as if you could go now."

Soon Miss Ware came to tell Bertie how sorry she was for him.

"After all," said she, smiling down on the two boys, "it is an ill wind that blows nobody good. Poor Tom has been expecting to spend his holidays alone, and now he will have a friend with him--Try to look on the bright side, Bertie, and to remember how much worse it would have been if there had been no boy to stay with you."

"I can't help being disappointed, Miss Ware," said Bertie, his eyes filling with tears.

"No; you would be a strange boy if you were not. But I want you to try to think of your poor mother, and write her as cheerfully as you can."

"Yes," answered Bertie; but his heart was too full to say more.

The last day of the term came, and one by one, or two by two, the boys went away, until only Bertie and Tom were left in the great house. It had never seemed so large to either of them before.

"It's miserable," groaned poor Bertie, as they strolled into the schoolroom. "Just think if we were on our way home now--how different."

"Just think if I had been left here by myself," said Tom.

"Yes," said Bertie, "but you know when one wants to go home he never thinks of the boys that have no home to go to."

The evening passed, and the two boys went to bed. They told stories to each other for a long time before they could go to sleep. That night they dreamed of their homes, and felt very lonely. Yet each tried to be brave, and so another day began.

This was the day before Christmas. Quite early in the morning came the great box of which Bertie's mother had spoken in her letter. Then, just as dinner had come to an end, there was a peal of the bell, and a voice was heard asking for Tom Egerton.

Tom sprang to his feet, and flew to greet a tall, handsome lady, crying, "Aunt Laura! Aunt Laura!"

And Laura explained that she and her husband had arrived in London only the day before. "I was so afraid, Tom," she said, "that we should not get here until Christmas Day was over and that you would be disappointed. So I would not let your mother write you that we were on our way home. You must get your things packed up at once, and go back with me to London. Then uncle and I will give you a splendid time."

For a minute or two Tom's face shone with delight. Then he caught sight of Bertie and turned to his aunt.

"Dear Aunt Laura," he said, "I am very sorry, but I can't go."

"Can't go? and why not?"

"Because I can't go and leave Bertie here all alone," he said stoutly. "When I was going to be alone he wrote and asked his mother to let me go home with him. She could not have either of us because Bertie's sister has scarlet fever. He has to stay here, and he has never been away from home at Christmas time before, and I can't go away and leave him by himself, Aunt Laura."

For a minute Aunt Laura looked at the boy as if she could not believe him. Then she caught him in her arms and kissed him.

"You dear little boy, you shall not leave him. You shall bring him along, and we shall all enjoy ourselves together. Bertie, my boy, you are not very old yet, but I am going to teach you a lesson as well as I can. It is that kindness is never wasted in this world."

And so Bertie and Tom found that there was such a thing as a fairy after all.

Reprinted with the permission of the Henry Altemus Company.

--JOHN STRANGE WINTER--

Click here for more Christmas Stories

Master Sandy's SnapDragon - A Short Children's Christmas Story

Click here to read an article about what it means to understand inspirational Christmas stories.

There was just enough of December in the air and of May in the sky to make the Yuletide of the year of grace 1611 a time of pleasure and delight to every boy and girl in "Merrie England" from the princely children in stately Whitehall to the humblest pot-boy and scullery-girl in the hall of the country squire.

And in the palace at Whitehall even the cares of state gave place to the sports of this happy season. For that "Most High and Mighty Prince James, by the Grace of God King of Great Britain, France, and Ireland"--as you will find him styled in your copy of the Old Version, or what is known as "King James' Bible"--loved the Christmas
festivities, cranky, crabbed, and crusty though he was. And this year he felt especially gracious. For now, first since the terror of the Guy Fawkes plot which had come to naught full seven years before, did the timid king feel secure on his throne; the translation of the Bible, on which so many learned men had been for years engaged, had just been issued from the press of Master Robert Baker; and, lastly, much profit was coming into the royal treasury from the new lands in the Indies and across the sea.

So it was to be a Merry Christmas in the palace at Whitehall. Great were the preparations for its celebration, and the Lord Henry, the handsome, wise and popular young Prince of Wales, whom men hoped some day to hail as King Henry of England, was to take part in a jolly Christmas mask, in which, too, even the little Prince Charles was to perform for the edification of the court when the mask should be shown
in the new and gorgeous banqueting hall of the palace.

And to-night it was Christmas Eve. The Little Prince Charles and the Princess Elizabeth could scarcely wait for the morrow, so impatient were they to see all the grand devisings that were in store for them. So good Master Sandy, under-tutor to the Prince, proposed to wise Archie Armstrong, the King's jester, that they play at snapdragon for the children in the royal nursery.

The Prince and Princess clamoured for the promised game at once, and soon the flicker from the flaming bow lighted up the darkened nursery as, around the witchlike caldron, they watched their opportunity to snatch the lucky raisin. The room rang so loudly with fun and laughter that even the King himself, big of head and rickety of legs, shambled in good-humouredly to join in the sport that was giving so much pleasure to the royal boy he so dearly loved, and whom he always called "Baby Charles."

But what was snapdragon, you ask? A simple enough game, but dear for many and many a year to English children. A broad and shallow bowl or dish half-filled with blazing brandy, at the bottom of which lay numerous toothsome raisins--a rare tidbit in those days--and one of these, pierced with a gold button, was known as the "lucky raisin." Then, as the flaming brandy flickered and darted from the yawning bowl,
even as did the flaming poison tongues of the cruel dragon that St. George of England conquered so valiantly, each one of the revellers sought to snatch a raisin from the burning bowl without singe or scar. And he who drew out the lucky raisin was winner and champion, and could claim a boon or reward for his superior skill. Rather a dangerous game, perhaps it seems, but folks were rough players in those old days and laughed at a burn or a bruise, taking them as part of the fun.

So around Master Sandy's Snapdragon danced the royal children, and even the King himself condescended to dip his royal hands in the flames, while Archie Armstrong the jester cried out: "Now fair and softly, brother Jamie, fair and softly, man. There's ne'er a plum in all that plucking so worth the burning as there was in Signer Guy Fawkes' snapdragon when ye proved not to be his lucky raisin." For King's
jesters were privileged characters in the old days, and jolly Archie Armstrong could joke with the King on this Guy Fawkes scare as none other dared.

And still no one brought out the lucky raisin, though the Princess Elizabeth's fair arm was scotched and good Master Sandy's peaked beard was singed, and my Lord Montacute had dropped his signet ring in the fiery dragon's mouth, and even His Gracious Majesty the King was nursing one of his royal fingers.

But just as through the parted arras came young Henry, Prince of Wales, little Prince Charles gave a boyish shout of triumph.

"Hey, huzzoy!" he cried, "'tis mine, 'tis mine! Look, Archie; see, dear dad; I have the lucky raisin! A boon, good folk; a boon for me!" And the excited lad held aloft the lucky raisin in which gleamed the golden button.

"Rarely caught, young York," cried Prince Henry, clapping his hands in applause. "I came in right in good time, did I not, to give you luck, little brother? And now, lad, what is the boon to be?"

And King James, greatly pleased at whatever his dear "Baby Charles" said or did, echoed his eldest son's question. "Ay lad, 'twas a rare good dip; so crave your boon. What does my bonny boy desire?"

But the boy hesitated. What was there that a royal prince, indulged as was he, could wish for or desire? He really could think of nothing, and crossing quickly to his elder brother, whom, boy-fashion, he adored, he whispered, "Ud's fish, Hal, what DO I want?"

Prince Henry placed his hand upon his brother's shoulder and looked smilingly into his questioning eyes, and all within the room glanced for a moment at the two lads standing thus.

And they were well worth looking at. Prince Henry of Wales, tall, comely, open-faced, and well-built, a noble lad of eighteen who called to men's minds, so "rare Ben Jonson" says, the memory of the hero of Agincourt, that other thunderbolt of war,
Harry the Fifth, to whom in face you are So like, as Fate would have you so in worth;
Prince Charles, royal Duke of York, Knight of the Garter and of the Bath, fair in face and form, an active, manly, daring boy of eleven--the princely brothers made so fair a sight that the King, jealous and suspicious of Prince Henry's popularity though he was, looked now upon them both with loving eyes. But how those loving eyes
would have grown dim with tears could this fickle, selfish, yet indulgent father have foreseen the sad and bitter fates of both his handsome boys.

But, fortunately, such foreknowledge is not for fathers or mothers, whatever their rank or station, and King James's only thought was one of pride in the two brave lads now whispering together in secret confidence. And into this he speedily broke.

"Come, come, Baby Charles," he cried, "stand no more parleying, but out and over with the boon ye crave as guerdon for your lucky plum. Ud's fish, lad, out with it; we'd get it for ye though it did rain jeddert staves here in Whitehall."

"So please your Grace," said the little Prince, bowing low with true courtier-like grace and suavity, "I will, with your permission, crave my boon as a Christmas favor at wassail time in to-morrow's revels."

And then he passed from the chamber arm-in-arm with his elder brother, while the King, chuckling greatly over the lad's show of courtliness and ceremony, went into a learned discussion with my lord of Montacute and Master Sandy as to the origin of the snapdragon, which he, with his customary assumption of deep learning, declared was "but a modern paraphrase, my lord, of the fable which telleth how Dan Hercules did kill the flaming dragon of Hesperia and did then, with the apple of that famous orchard, make a fiery dish of burning apple brandy which he did name 'snapdragon.'"

For King James VI of Scotland and I of England was, you see, something too much of what men call a pendant.

Christmas morning rose bright and glorious. A light hoarfrost whitened the ground and the keen December air nipped the noses as it hurried the song-notes of the score of little waifs who, gathered beneath the windows of the big palace, sung for the happy awaking of the young Prince Charles their Christmas carol and their Christmas noel:

A child this day is born,
A child of great renown;
Most worthy of a sceptre,
A sceptre and a crown.

Noel, noel, noel,
Noel sing we may
Because the King of all Kings
Was born this blessed day.

These tidings shepherds heard
In field watching their fold,
Were by an angel unto them
At night revealed and told.

Noel, noel, noel,
Noel sing we may
Because the King of all Kings
Was born this blessed day.

He brought unto them tidings
Of gladness and of mirth,
Which cometh to all people by
This holy infant's birth.

Noel, noel, noel,
Noel sing we may
Because the King of all Kings
Was born this blessed day.

The "blessed day" wore on. Gifts and sports filled the happy hours. In the royal banqueting hall the Christmas dinner was royally set and served, and King and Queen and Princes, with attendant nobles and holiday guests, partook of the strong dishes of those old days of hearty appetites.

"A shield of brawn with mustard, boyl'd capon, a chine of beef roasted, a neat's tongue roasted, a pig roasted, chewets baked, goose, swan and turkey roasted, a haunch of venison roasted, a pasty of venison, a kid stuffed with pudding, an olive-pye, capons and dowsets, sallats and fricases"--all these and much more, with strong beer and spiced ale to wash the dinner down, crowned the royal board, while the great boar's head and the Christmas pie, borne in with great parade, were placed on
the table joyously decked with holly and rosemary and bay. It was a great ceremony--this bringing in of the boar's head. First came an attendant, so the old record tells us, "attyr'd in a horseman's coat with a Boares-speare in his hande; next
to him another huntsman in greene, with a bloody faulchion drawne; next to him two pages in tafatye sarcenet, each of them with a messe of mustard; next to whom came hee that carried the Boareshead, crosst with a greene silk scarfe, by which hunge the empty scabbard of the faulchion which was carried before him."

After the dinner--the boar's head having been wrestled for by some of the royal yeomen--came the wassail or health-drinking. Then the King said:

"And now, Baby Charles, let us hear the boon ye were to crave of us at wassail as the guerdon for the holder of the lucky raisin in Master Sandy's snapdragon."

And the little eleven-year-old Prince stood up before the company in all his brave attire, glanced at his brother Prince Henry, and then facing the King said boldly:

"I pray you, my father and my Hege, grant me as the boon I ask--the freeing of Walter Raleigh."

At this altogether startling and unlooked-for request, amazement and consternation appeared on the faces around the royal banqueting board, and the King put down his untasted tankard of spiced ale, while surprise, doubt and anger quickly crossed the royal face. For Sir Walter Raleigh, the favourite of Queen Elizabeth, the lord-proprietor and colonizer of the American colonies, and the sworn foe to Spain, had
been now close prisoner in the Tower for more than nine years, hated and yet dreaded by this fickle King James, who dared not put him to death for fear of the people to whom the name and valour of Raleigh were dear.

"Hoot, chiel!" cried the King at length, spluttering wrathfully in the broadest of his native Scotch, as was his habit when angered or surprised. "Ye reckless fou, wha hae put ye to sic a jackanape trick? Dinna ye ken that sic a boon is nae for a laddie like you to meddle wi'? Wha hae put ye to't, I say?"

But ere the young Prince could reply, the stately and solemn-faced ambassador of Spain, the Count of Gondemar, arose in the place of honour he filled as a guest of the King.

"My Lord King," he said, "I beg your majesty to bear in memory your pledge to my gracious master King Philip of Spain, that naught save grave cause should lead you to liberate from just durance that arch enemy of Spain, the Lord Raleigh."

"But you did promise me, my lord," said Prince Charles, hastily, "and you have told me that the royal pledge is not to be lightly broken."

"Ma certie, lad," said King James, "ye maunay learn that there is nae rule wi'out its aicciptions." And then he added, "A pledge to a boy in play, like to ours of yester-eve, Baby Charles, is not to be kept when matters of state conflict." Then turning to the Spanish ambassador, he said: "Rest content, my lord count. This recreant Raleigh shall not yet be loosed."

"But, my liege," still persisted the boy prince, "my brother Hal did say--"

The wrath of the King burst out afresh.

"Ay, said you so? Brother Hal, indeed!" he cried.

"I thought the wind blew from that quarter," and he angrily faced his eldest son. "So, sirrah; 'twas you that did urge this foolish boy to work your traitorous purpose in such coward guise!"

"My liege," said Prince Henry, rising in his place, "traitor and coward are words I may not calmly hear even from my father and my king. You wrong me foully when you use them thus. For though I do bethink me that the Tower is but a sorry cage in which to keep so grandly plumed a bird as my Lord of Raleigh, I did but seek--"

"Ay, you did but seek to curry favour with the craven crowd," burst out the now thoroughly angry King, always jealous of the popularity of this brave young Prince of Wales. "And am I, sirrah, to be badgered and browbeaten in my own palace by such a thriftless ne'er-do-weel as you, ungrateful boy, who seekest to gain preference with the people in this realm before your liege lord the King? Quit my presence, sirrah, and that instanter, ere that I do send you to spend your Christmas where
your great-grandfather, King Henry, bade his astrologer spend his--in the Tower, there to keep company with your fitting comrade, Raleigh, the traitor!"

Without a word in reply to this outburst, with a son's submission, but with a royal dignity, Prince Henry bent his head before his father's decree and withdrew from the table, followed by the gentlemen of his household.

But ere he could reach the arrased doorway, Prince Charles sprang to his side and cried, valiantly: "Nay then, if he goes so do I! 'Twas surely but a Christmas joke and of my own devising. Spoil not our revel, my gracious liege and father, on this of all the year's red-letter days, by turning my thoughtless frolic into such bitter
threatening. I did but seek to test the worth of Master Sandy's lucky raisin by asking for as wildly great a boon as might be thought upon. Brother Hal too, did but give me his advising in joke even as I did seek it. None here, my royal father, would brave your sovereign displeasure by any unknightly or unloyal scheme."

The gentle and dignified words of the young prince--for Charles Stuart, though despicable as a king, was ever loving and loyal as a friend--were as oil upon the troubled waters. The ruffled temper of the ambassador of Spain--who in after years really did work Raleigh's downfall and death--gave place to courtly bows, and the King's quick anger melted away before the dearly loved voice of his favourite son.

"Nay, resume your place, son Hal," he said, "and you, gentlemen all, resume your seats, I pray. I too did but jest as did Baby Charles here--a sad young wag, I fear me, is this same young Prince."

But as, after the wassail, came the Christmas mask, in which both Princes bore their parts, Prince Charles said to Archie Armstrong, the King's jester:

"Faith, good Archie; now is Master Sandy's snapdragon but a false beast withal, and his lucky raisin is but an evil fruit that pays not for the plucking."

And wise old Archie only wagged his head and answered, "Odd zooks, Cousin Charlie, Christmas raisins are not the only fruit that burns the fingers in the plucking, and mayhap you too may live to know that a mettlesome horse never stumbleth but when he is reined."

Poor "Cousin Charlie" did not then understand the full meaning of the wise old jester's words, but he did live to learn their full intent. For when, in after years, his people sought to curb his tyrannies with a revolt that ended only with his death upon the scaffold, outside this very banqueting house at Whitehall, Charles Stuart learned all too late that a "mettlesome horse" needed sometimes to be "reined," and heard, too late as well, the stern declaration of the Commons of England that
"no chief officer might presume for the future to contrive the enslaving and destruction of the nation with impunity."

But though many a merry and many a happy day had the young Prince Charles before the dark tragedy of his sad and sorry manhood, he lost all faith in lucky raisins. Not for three years did Sir Walter Raleigh--whom both the Princes secretly admired--obtain release from the Tower, and ere three more years were past his head fell as a
forfeit to the stern demands of Spain. And Prince Charles often declared that naught indeed could come from meddling with luck saving burnt fingers, "even," he said, "as came to me that profitless night when I sought a boon for snatching the lucky raisin from good Master Sandy's Christmas snapdragon."

This story was first published in Wide Awake, vol. 26.

--ELDRIDGE S. BROOKS--

Click here for more Christmas Stories

Christmas Under The Snow - A Short Children's Christmas Story

Click here to read an article about the importance of reflecting on Christmas stories after reading them.

It was just before Christmas, and Mr. Barnes was starting for the nearest village. The family were out at the door to see him start, and give him the last charges.

"Don't forget the Christmas dinner, papa," said Willie.

'"Specially the chickens for the pie!" put in Nora.

"An' the waisins," piped up little Tot, standing on tiptoe to give papa a good-bye kiss.

"I hate to have you go, George," said Mrs. Barnes anxiously. "It looks to me like a storm."

"Oh, I guess it won't be much," said Mr. Barnes lightly; "and the youngsters must have their Christmas dinner, you know."

"Well," said Mrs. Barnes, "remember this, George: if there is a bad storm don't try to come back. Stay in the village till it is over. We can get along alone for a few days, can't we, Willie?" turning to the boy who was giving the last touches to the harness of old Tim, the horse.

"Oh, yes! Papa, I can take care of mamma," said Willie earnestly.

"And get up the Christmas dinner out of nothing?" asked papa, smiling.

"I don't know," said Willie, hesitating, as he remembered the proposed dinner, in which he felt a deep interest.

"What could you do for the chicken pie?" went on papa with a roguish look in his eye, "or the plum-pudding?"

"Or the waisins?" broke in Tot anxiously.

"Tot has set her heart on the raisins," said papa, tossing the small maiden up higher than his head, and dropping her all laughing on the door-step, "and Tot shall have them sure, if papa can find them in S--. Now good-bye, all! Willie, remember to take care of mamma, and I depend on you to get up a Christmas dinner if I don't get back. Now, wife, don't worry!" were his last words as the faithful old horse started
down the road.

Mrs. Barnes turned one more glance to the west, where a low, heavy bank of clouds was slowly rising, and went into the little house to attend to her morning duties.

"Willie," she said, when they were all in the snug little log-cabin in which they lived, "I'm sure there's going to be a storm, and it may be snow. You had better prepare enough wood for two or three days; Nora will help bring it in."

"Me, too!" said grave little Tot.

"Yes, Tot may help too," said mamma.

This simple little home was a busy place, and soon every one was hard at work. It was late in the afternoon before the pile of wood, which had been steadily growing all day, was high enough to satisfy Willie, for now there was no doubt about the coming storm, and it would probably bring snow; no one could guess how much, in that country of heavy storms.

"I wish the village was not so far off, so that papa could get back to-night," said Willie, as he came in with his last load.

Mrs. Barnes glanced out of the window. Broad scattering snowflakes were silently falling; the advance guard, she felt them to be, of a numerous host.

"So do I," she replied anxiously, "or that he did not have to come over that dreadful prairie, where it is so easy to get lost."

"But old Tim knows the way, even in the dark," said Willie proudly. "I believe Tim knows more'n some folks."

"No doubt he does, about the way home," said mamma, "and we won't worry about papa, but have our supper and go to bed. That'll make the time seem short."

The meal was soon eaten and cleared away, the fire carefully covered up on the hearth, and the whole little family quietly in bed. Then the storm, which had been making ready all day, came down upon them in earnest.

The bleak wind howled around the corners, the white flakes by millions and millions came with it, and hurled themselves upon that house. In fact, that poor little cabin alone on the wide prairie seemed to be the object of their sport. They sifted through the cracks in the walls, around the windows, and under the door, and made pretty little drifts on the floor. They piled up against it outside, covered the steps, and then the door, and then the windows, and then the roof, and at last
buried it completely out of sight under the soft, white mass.

And all the time the mother and her three children lay snugly covered up in their beds fast asleep, and knew nothing about it.

The night passed away and morning came, but no light broke through the windows of the cabin. Mrs. Barnes woke at the usual time, but finding it still dark and perfectly quiet outside, she concluded that the storm was over, and with a sigh of relief turned over to sleep again. About eight o'clock, however, she could sleep no more, and became wide awake enough to think the darkness strange. At that moment the clock struck, and the truth flashed over her.

Being buried under snow is no uncommon thing on the wide prairies, and since they had wood and cornmeal in plenty, she would not have been much alarmed if her husband had been home. But snow deep enough to bury them must cover up all landmarks, and she knew her husband would not rest till he had found them. To get lost on the trackless prairie was fearfully easy, and to suffer and die almost in sight of home was no unusual thing, and was her one dread in living there.

A few moments she lay quiet in bed, to calm herself and get control of her own anxieties before she spoke to the children.

"Willie," she said at last, "are you awake?"

"Yes, mamma," said Willie; "I've been awake ever so long; isn't it most morning?"

"Willie," said the mother quietly, "we mustn't be frightened, but I think--I'm afraid--we are snowed in."

Willie bounded to his feet and ran to the door. "Don't open it!" said mamma hastily; "the snow may fall in. Light a candle and look out the window."

In a moment the flickering rays of the candle fell upon the window. Willie drew back the curtain. Snow was tightly banked up against it to the top.

"Why, mamma," he exclaimed, "so we are! and how can papa find us? and what shall we do?"

"We must do the best we can," said mamma, in a voice which she tried to make steady, "and trust that it isn't very deep, and that Tim and papa will find us, and dig us out."

By this time the little girls were awake and inclined to be very much frightened, but mamma was calm now, and Willie was brave and hopeful. They all dressed, and Willie started the fire. The smoke refused to rise, but puffed out into the room, and Mrs. Barnes knew that if the chimney were closed they would probably suffocate, if they did not starve or freeze.

The smoke in a few minutes choked them, and, seeing that something must be done, she put the two girls, well wrapped in blankets, into the shed outside the back door, closed the door to keep out the smoke, and then went with Willie to the low attic, where a scuttle door opened onto the roof.

"We must try," she said, "to get it open without letting in too much snow, and see if we can manage to clear the chimney."

"I can reach the chimney from the scuttle with a shovel," said Willie. "I often have with a stick."

After much labour, and several small avalanches of snow, the scuttle was opened far enough for Willie to stand on the top round of the short ladder, and beat a hole through to the light, which was only a foot above. He then shovelled off the top of the chimney, which was ornamented with a big round cushion of snow, and then by beating and shovelling he was able to clear the door, which he opened wide, and
Mrs. Barnes came up on the ladder to look out. Dreary indeed was the scene! Nothing but snow as far as the eye could reach, and flakes still falling, though lightly.

The storm was evidently almost over, but the sky was gray and overcast.

They closed the door, went down, and soon had a fire, hoping that the smoke would guide somebody to them.

Breakfast was taken by candle-light, dinner--in time--in the same way, and supper passed with no sound from the outside world.

Many times Willie and mamma went to the scuttle door to see if any one was in sight, but not a shadow broke the broad expanse of white over which toward night the sun shone. Of course there were no signs of the roads, for through so deep snow none could be broken, and until the sun and frost should form a crust on top there was little hope of their being reached.

The second morning broke, and Willie hurried up to his post of lookout the first thing. No person was in sight, but he found a light crust on the snow, and the first thing he noticed was a few half-starved birds trying in vain to pick up something to eat. They looked weak and almost exhausted, and a thought struck Willie.

It was hard to keep up the courage of the little household. Nora had openly lamented that to-night was Christmas Eve, and no Christmas dinner to be had. Tot had grown very tearful about her "waisins," and Mrs. Barnes, though she tried to keep up heart, had become very pale and silent.

Willie, though he felt unbounded faith in papa, and especially in Tim, found it hard to suppress his own complaints when he remembered that Christmas would probably be passed in the same dismal way, with fears for papa added to their own misery.

The wood, too, was getting low, and mamma dared not let the fire go out, as that was the only sign of their existence to anybody; and though she did not speak of it, Willie knew, too, that they had not many candles, and in two days at farthest they would be left in the dark.

The thought that struck Willie pleased him greatly, and he was sure it would cheer up the rest. He made his plans, and went to work to carry them out without saying anything about it.

He brought out of a corner of the attic an old boxtrap he had used in the summer to catch birds and small animals, set it carefully on the snow, and scattered crumbs of corn-bread to attract the birds.

In half an hour he went up again, and found to his delight he had caught bigger game--a poor rabbit which had come from no one knows where over the crust to find food.

This gave Willie a new idea; they could save their Christmas dinner after all; rabbits made very nice pies.

Poor Bunny was quietly laid to rest, and the trap set again. This time another rabbit was caught, perhaps the mate of the first. This was the last of the rabbits, but the next catch was a couple of snowbirds. These Willie carefully placed in a corner of the attic, using the trap for a cage, and giving them plenty of food and water.

When the girls were fast asleep, with tears on their cheeks for the dreadful Christmas they were going to have, Willie told mamma about his plans. Mamma was pale and weak with anxiety, and his news first made her laugh and then cry. But after a few moments given to her long pent-up tears, she felt much better and entered into his plans heartily.

The two captives up in the attic were to be Christmas presents to the girls, and the rabbits were to make the long anticipated pie. As for plum-pudding, of course that couldn't be thought of.

"But don't you think, mamma," said Willie eagerly, "that you could make some sort of a cake out of meal, and wouldn't hickory nuts be good in it? You know I have some left up in the attic, and I might crack them softly up there, and don't you think they would be good?" he concluded anxiously.

"Well, perhaps so," said mamma, anxious to please him and help him in his generous plans. "I can try. If I only had some eggs--but seems to me I have heard that snow beaten into cake would make it light--and there's snow enough, I'm sure," she added with a faint smile, the first Willie had seen for three days.

The smile alone he felt to be a great achievement, and he crept carefully up the ladder, cracked the nuts to the last one, brought them down, and mamma picked the meats out, while he dressed the two rabbits which had come so opportunely to be their Christmas dinner. "Wish you Merry Christmas!" he called out to Nora and Tot when they waked. "See what Santa Claus has brought you!"

Before they had time to remember what a sorry Christmas it was to be, they received their presents, a live bird, for each, a bird that was never to be kept in a cage, but fly about the house till summer came, and then to go away if it wished.

Pets were scarce on the prairie, and the girls were delighted. Nothing papa could have brought them would have given them so much happiness.

They thought no more of the dinner, but hurried to dress themselves and feed the birds, which were quite tame from hunger and weariness. But after a while they saw preparations for dinner, too. Mamma made a crust and lined a deep dish--the chicken pie dish--and then she brought a mysterious something out of the cupboard, all cut up so that it looked as if it might be chicken, and put it in the dish with other things, and then she tucked them all under a thick crust, and set it down in a
tin oven before the fire to bake. And that was not all. She got out some more cornmeal, and made a batter, and put in some sugar and something else which she slipped in from a bowl, and which looked in the batter something like raisins; and at the last moment Willie brought her a cup of snow and she hastily beat it into the cake, or pudding, whichever you might call it, while the children laughed at the
idea of making a cake out of snow. This went into the same oven and pretty soon it rose up light and showed a beautiful brown crust, while the pie was steaming through little fork holes on top, and sending out most delicious odours.

At the last minute, when the table was set and everything ready to come up, Willie ran up to look out of the scuttle, as he had every hour of daylight since they were buried. In a moment came a wild shout down the ladder.

"They're coming! Hurrah for old Tim!"

Mamma rushed up and looked out, and saw--to be sure--old Tim slowly coming along over the crust, drawing after him a wood sled on which were two men.

"It's papa!" shouted Willie, waving his arms to attract their attention.

"Willie!" came back over the snow in tones of agony. "Is that you? Are all well?"

"All well!" shouted Willie, "and just going to have our Christmas dinner."

"Dinner?" echoed papa, who was now nearer.

"Where is the house, then?"

"Oh, down here!" said Willie, "under the snow; but we're all right, only we mustn't let the plum-pudding spoil."

Looking into the attic, Willie found that mamma had fainted away, and this news brought to her aid papa and the other man, who proved to be a good friend who had come to help.

Tim was tied to the chimney, whose thread of smoke had guided them home, and all went down into the dark room. Mrs. Barnes soon recovered, and while Willie dished up the smoking dinner, stories were told on both sides.

Mr. Barnes had been trying to get through the snow and to find them all the time, but until the last night had made a stiff crust he had been unable to do so. Then Mrs. Barnes told her story, winding up with the account of Willie's Christmas dinner. "And if it hadn't been for his keeping up our hearts I don't know what would have become of us," she said at last.

"Well, my son," said papa, "you did take care of mamma, and get up a dinner out of nothing, sure enough; and now we'll eat the dinner, which I am sure is delicious."

So it proved to be; even the cake, or pudding, which Tot christened snow pudding, was voted very nice, and the hickory nuts as good as raisins. When they had finished, Mr. Barnes brought in his packages, gave Tot and the rest some "sure-enough waisins," and added his Christmas presents to Willie's; but though all were overjoyed, nothing was quite so nice in their eyes as the two live birds.

After dinner the two men and Willie dug out passages from the doors, through the snow, which had wasted a good deal, uncovered the windows, and made a slanting way to his shed for old Tim. Then for two or three days Willie made tunnels and little rooms under the snow, and for two weeks, while the snow lasted, Nora and Tot had fine times in the little snow playhouses.

From "Kristy's Queer Christmas," Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 1904.

--OLIVE THORNE MILLER--

Click here for more Christmas Stories

Christmas in Seventeen Seventy-Six - A Short Inspirational Christmas Story

Click here to read an article about what it means to understand inspirational Christmas stories.
"On Christmas day in Seventy-six,
Our gallant troops with bayonets fixed,
To Trenton marched away."

Children, have any of you ever thought of what little people like you were doing in this country more than a hundred years ago, when the cruel tide of war swept over its bosom? From many homes the fathers were absent, fighting bravely for the liberty which we now enjoy, while the mothers no less valiantly struggled against hardships and discomforts in order to keep a home for their children, whom you only know as your great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers, dignified gentlemen and beautiful ladies, whose painted portraits hang upon the walls in some of your homes. Merry, romping children they were in those far-off times, yet their bright faces must have looked grave sometimes, when they heard the grown people talk of the great things that were happening around them. Some of these little people never forgot the
wonderful events of which they heard, and afterward related them to their children and grandchildren, which accounts for some of the interesting stories which you may still hear, if you are good children.

The Christmas story that I have to tell you is about a boy and girl who lived in Bordentown, New Jersey. The father of these children was a soldier in General Washington's army, which was encamped a few miles north of Trenton, on the Pennsylvania side of the Delaware River. Bordentown, as you can see by looking on your map, if you have not hidden them all away for the holidays, is about seven miles south of Trenton, where fifteen hundred Hessians and a troop of British light
horse were holding the town. Thus you see that the British, in force, were between Washington's army and Bordentown, besides which there were some British and Hessian troops in the very town. All this seriously interfered with Captain Tracy's going home to eat his Christmas dinner with his wife and children. Kitty and Harry Tracy, who had not lived long enough to see many wars, could not imagine such a thing as
Christmas without their father, and had busied themselves for weeks in making everything ready to have a merry time with him. Kitty, who loved to play quite as much as any frolicsome Kitty of to-day, had spent all her spare time in knitting a pair of thick woollen stockings, which seems a wonderful feat for a little girl only eight years old to perform! Can you not see her sitting by the great chimney-place, filled with its roaring, crackling logs, in her quaint, short-waisted dress,
knitting away steadily, and puckering up her rosy, dimpled face over the strange twists and turns of that old stocking? I can see her, and I can also hear her sweet voice as she chatters away to her mother about "how 'sprised papa will be to find that his little girl can knit like a grown-up woman," while Harry spreads out on the hearth a goodly store of shellbarks that he has gathered and is keeping for his share of the 'sprise.

"What if he shouldn't come?" asks Harry, suddenly.

"Oh, he'll come! Papa never stays away on Christmas," says Kitty, looking up into her mother's face for an echo to her words. Instead she sees something very like tears in her mother's eyes.

"Oh, mamma, don't you think he'll come?"

"He will come if he possibly can," says Mrs. Tracy; "and if he cannot, we will keep Christmas whenever dear papa does come home."

"It won't be half so nice," said Kitty, "nothing's so nice as REALLY Christmas, and how's Kriss Kringle going to know about it if we change the day?"

"We'll let him come just the same, and if he brings anything for papa we can put it away for him."

This plan, still, seemed a poor one to Miss Kitty, who went to her bed in a sober mood that night, and was heard telling her dear dollie, Martha Washington. that "wars were mis'able, and that when she married she should have a man who kept a candy-shop for a husband, and not a soldier--no, Martha, not even if he's as nice as papa!" As Martha made no objection to this little arrangement, being an obedient child, they were both soon fast asleep. The days of that cold winter of 1776 wore
on; so cold it was that the sufferings of the soldiers were great, their bleeding feet often leaving marks on the pure white snow over which they marched. As Christmas drew near there was a feeling among the patriots that some blow was about to be struck; but what it was, and from whence they knew not; and, better than all, the British had no idea that any strong blow could come from Washington's army, weak and out of heart, as they thought, after being chased through Jersey by
Cornwallis.

Mrs. Tracy looked anxiously each day for news of the husband and father only a few miles away, yet so separated by the river and the enemy's troops that they seemed like a hundred. Christmas Eve came, but brought with it few rejoicings. The hearts of the people were too sad to be taken up with merrymaking, although the Hessian soldiers in the town, good-natured Germans, who only fought the Americans because they were paid for it, gave themselves up to the feasting and revelry.

"Shall we hang up our stockings?" asked Kitty, in rather a doleful voice.

"Yes," said her mother, "Santa Claus won't forget you, I am sure, although he has been kept pretty busy looking after the soldiers this winter."

"Which side is he on?" asked Harry.

"The right side, of course," said Mrs. Tracy, which was the most sensible answer she could possibly have given. So:

"The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there."

Two little rosy faces lay fast asleep upon the pillow when the good old soul came dashing over the roof about one o'clock, and after filling each stocking with red apples, and leaving a cornucopia of sugar-plums for each child, he turned for a moment to look at the sleeping faces, for St. Nicholas has a tender spot in his great big heart for a soldier's children. Then, remembering many other small folks waiting for him all over the land, he sprang up the chimney and was away in a
trice.

Santa Claus, in the form of Mrs. Tracy's farmer brother, brought her a splendid turkey; but because the Hessians were uncommonly fond of turkey, it came hidden under a load of wood. Harry was very fond of turkey, too, as well as of all other good things; but when his mother said, "It's such a fine bird, it seems too bad to eat it without father," Harry cried out, "Yes, keep it for papa!" and Kitty, joining
in the chorus, the vote was unanimous, and the turkey was hung away to await the return of the good soldier, although it seemed strange, as Kitty told Martha Washington, "to have no papa and no turkey on Christmas Day."

The day passed and night came, cold with a steady fall of rain and sleet. Kitty prayed that her "dear papa might not be out in the storm, and that he might come home and wear his beautiful blue stockings"; "And eat his turkey," said Harry's sleepy voice; after which they were soon in the land of dreams. Toward morning the good people in Bordentown were suddenly aroused by firing in the distance, which
became more and more distinct as the day wore on. There was great excitement in the town; men and women gathered together in little groups in the streets to wonder what it was all about, and neighbours came dropping into Mrs. Tracy's parlour, all day long, one after the other, to say what they thought of the firing. In the evening there came a body of Hessians flying into the town, to say that General
Washington had surprised the British at Trenton, early that morning, and completely routed them, which so frightened the Hessians in Bordentown that they left without the slightest ceremony.

It was a joyful hour to the good town people when the red-jackets turned their backs on them, thinking every moment that the patriot army would be after them. Indeed, it seemed as if wonders would never cease that day, for while rejoicings were still loud, over the departure of the enemy, there came a knock at Mrs. Tracy's door, and while she was wondering whether she dared open it, it was pushed ajar, and a tall
soldier entered. What a scream of delight greeted that soldier, and how Kitty and Harry danced about him and clung to his knees, while Mrs. Tracy drew him toward the warm blaze, and helped him off with his damp cloak!

Cold and tired Captain Tracy was, after a night's march in the streets and a day's fighting; but he was not too weary to smile at the dear faces around him, or to pat Kitty's head when she brought his warm stockings and would put them on the tired feet, herself.

Suddenly there was a sharp, quick bark outside the door. "What's that?" cried Harry

"Oh, I forgot. Open the door. Here, Fido, Fido!"

Into the room there sprang a beautiful little King Charles spaniel, white, with tan spots, and ears of the longest, softest, and silkiest.

"What a little dear!" exclaimed Kitty; "where did it come from?"

"From the battle of Trenton," said her father. "His poor master was shot. After the red-coats had turned their backs, and I was hurrying along one of the streets where the fight had been the fiercest, I heard a low groan, and, turning, saw a British officer lying among a number of slain. I raised his head; he begged for some water, which I brought him, and bending down my ear I heard him whisper, 'Dying--last
battle--say a prayer.' He tried to follow me in the words of a prayer, and then, taking my hand, laid it on something soft and warm, nestling close up to his breast--it was this little dog. The gentleman--for he was a real gentleman--gasped out, 'Take care of my poor Fido; good-night,' and was gone. It was as much as I could do to get the little creature away from his dead master; he clung to him as if he loved him better than life. You'll take care of him, won't you, children? I brought him home to you, for a Christmas present."

"Pretty little Fido," said Kitty, taking the soft, curly creature in her arms; "I think it's the best present in the world, and to-morrow is to be real Christmas, because you are home, papa."

"And we'll eat the turkey," said Harry, "and shellbarks, lots of them, that I saved for you. What a good time we'll have! And oh, papa, don't go to war any more, but stay at home, with mother and Kitty and Fido and me."

"What would become of our country if we should all do that, my little man? It was a good day's work that we did this Christmas, getting the army all across the river so quickly and quietly that we surprised the enemy, and gained a victory, with the loss of few men."

Thus it was that some of the good people of 1776 spent their Christmas, that their children and grandchildren might spend many of them as citizens of a free nation.

From "A Last Century Maid and Other Stories for Children," by A.H.W.
Lippincott, 1895.

--ANNE HOLLINGSWORTH WHARTON--

Click here for more Christmas Stories