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Show ALONE AL By S. BARING-GOULD v 1! J Is thoro enn there be--a man nioro lonely than ono- returned from a far country, who has been out of his homo land for 20 years, anil comes bark I when his parents are dead, his old j friends dispersed, nnd the old nest I has passed to other occupants? And I can his loneliness be more emphasized ' than when his return syneronlzes with Christmas? That was my condtilon when I re- visited tho mother country. With a boating heart and "training eyes I had '1 looked for the first sight of dear old I America after havlmi lefi It as a lad. I hardly a man. some 20 years ago. ! I was back not to home I had no i home now My heart begun to fall I nio, my spirits decline, when I reached tlie little country town near which I j had been born, and where I had licet-, licet-, ed the golden hour of childhood. Xo ! one know me. In the churchyard 1 ' laid a wreath 011 the graves where j lay dear old father ami mother. I 1 looked at our house. It hail been re- built and was occupied by straugors. j "You Are Very Good." I went through the village. The little shops hail fresh names over thorn. Tho old rector who had baptized mo was dead. The old school was gone. Tho ancient church had been renovated. reno-vated. Tho village Inn wns In new hands. The old Christmas- was no more. No frost, no snow, no Icicles; only sludge ami a drizzling rain. 1 returned from my visit to tho village) vil-lage) In deep depression. I would haste to the rooms I had taken In n lioiisu In the town, anil spend my Christmas IOvo with my pipe ami glass alone, with not oven an old dog to lie at my feet and look up with speaking speak-ing eyes Into my face and sympathize with me In my solitude. I would pass tho evening heforo the lire, looking Into the red coals, not building castles mining them, but watching tho tumbling tum-bling down of old cottages, old farms, old reminiscences. Into ash. I had done well In the other land, nnd had returned, not a rich man, but with a competence. it had been my wish, my ambition, to settle In the village about which clung all my sweetest nnd holiest thoughts: to buy there n little land, to tread the old paths, ramble In the same woods. look upon the Ramo scenes, dwell among the same people, re-make a home In the snme place. Hut now? Could it bo? As I walked back to my lodgings, through the street and by tho market place, folk were hurrying In all directions, direc-tions, some with hunches of holly in thulr hands, a girl or two with a sprig ' of mistletoe slyly hid In her muff, a I man wheeling a Christmas treo on a ! banow, butchers' twys carrying Joints j for the morrow's dlnifei-. I'htm puddings pud-dings and mince plos were displayed In the confectioners' shops. Tho ' chemist, the hairdresser, tho seeds-I seeds-I nmn, (he draper had slurred their win-.lows win-.lows with to)s, toys. toys. Ho who I had como" to earth as a llttlo child , had filled every heart with thought I of the little ones, and desire to make Christmas a day of Joy to thorn. I had no tiny ones of my own, no llttlo nieces and nephews, no small cousins for whom to provide anything. I was alone utterly, desolately alone. As I pursued my way 1 saw a tall, idim girl walking before me with a basket on her nrm, and I noticed that . the bottom had come out. and that i the contents fell 011 the pavement. , Of this she wns unaware. I stooped ( and picked up a llttlo woolly lamb, 1 then a something wrappetl In paper then a silver match box breaking 1 out of Its covering. Gathering them together, I ran after tho girl and stopped her. "ICxcuso me." said I. "Are you n female Hop o' my Thumb, dropping tokens whorehy your track my bo known?" I showed her what I had collected. She colored and thanked me. Then I recognized her as thu daughter of , my landlady. ' '"You must allow me," said 1, "to tie I my handkei chief round the basket, ami to carry It for you. I believe that wo go tho same way." "You tiro very good," she replied. "Wo are about to havo a Christmas 1 tree for the children this evening, 1 'and I have been making some trilling piirchnses us preoents for my brothers and sisters, and for papa and mummn, who must not bo forgotten." "There go the candles!" 1 ox-elnlmetl, ox-elnlmetl, as a cataract of red, yellow anil green taper shot out of tho basket. bas-ket. "Ami there's an ornnge!" said she as one of these fruit IkiuiicciI forth mil fell, and rolled away Into the guttor. Wo were fat ceil to stoop ami collect col-lect the scattered wax lights, and then to tie my largo handkerchief j about the basket. ' "What a fnrtunato thing," said 1, "that I havo got a good sized 'kerchief I In place of one of the miserablo little I rags thai do service nowadays. That ( is, because I cling lo old customs, j and whon I was a boy my mother always al-ways gave me something like n dish-' dish-' cloth In my pocket." 1 Then wo proceeded on our way, and ! when wc wont Into tho house, sho ro-. ro-. reived the basket from mo, and ngaln thanked mo. "You must not remove the 'kerchief till nil Is unpacked," I said, "or thero will bo another discharge dis-charge of the contents, and then tho chlhlion will see what you have provided pro-vided for them." , ! THE TRUE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT lifeN. M'i ' mm t ... K(w.w ir "Shall you be dining out to-mor- I row?" asked the girl. I "I oh, no! I havo nono to d.e- I with. I know no ono hero." I "And this evening. Shalt you be I going anywhere?" I "I oh, no! 1 have nowhere whlth- I or to go." So wo parted, and I nscended to my room. I made up tho fire, nnd sat down and reread the newspaper. There wns much In It nbout tho approaching ap-proaching feast. I had tho Illustrated papors. They had issued Clirlstmas supplements, with pictures ot happy family gatherings, of Old KatlnVr Christmas, of waits and carol singers; I might perhaps hoar tho waits and slngors. I should certainly hoar tho Christmas bells. That would bo all. I had done with my papers. I sat heforo the tiro In a brown study, anil my spirits sank lower and ever lower. low-er. I recalled tho old Chrlstmnses I had spent at homo with my parents. I remembered how I had looked Into ' my stockings 011 the morning to sen if Old Father Christmas, had vlslta mo In the night and had left thoro some presents for the Good Hoy. Alas! No Knt hor Christmas would visit me now. All that was of tho past tho utterly and Irrevocably past. I did not light my candles. I could read no more. I needed no light tor my thoughts, they were too dark to bo Illumined thus. As I 3tood thus musing, 1 heard a tati at my door, and shouted: "Come In!" There ensued delay, and I called again: "Come In!" Then the door opened nnd I saw somo llttlo heads outside, with golden curls and Hushed cheeks, and a child's voice said: "Please, Air. What's-your-ii'inie, will you come to our tieo downstairs?" down-stairs?" , "is I!- y As 1 hesitated, the child said: "Please Aunle told us to ask you." And then 1 saw the tall girl whom I had assisted draw back Into thu dark behind them. "Most certainly I will, as you aru so kind ns to Invite me." So I descended, and thero woro my landlord and landlady, radiant with happiness, and tho five children danced heforo 1110 and said: "Ho Is 001110; is It not nlco!" Hchlntl, presently, pres-ently, entered Annie, somowhat shyly, shy-ly, and pretending she had come from the kitchen. I was witness of the delight of tho lit LI ones over their presents tho , I Saw the Tall Girl. woolly lamb, a small cart, a cannon, a dull the father over a pair of warm stockings of Aunlo's knitting, the mothor over a shawl, also of her woik; and I stood smiling and happy, ( when up sprang ono of the children nnd pluckod from tho tree the silver mntcli box, "This." said the child, "Is for M What's-hls-mime. Sister Annie sail It was for him." ' 1 was moved more than I can say. So somo had been thinking of mo, though I was only a lodgur. "I)ok heie, sir!" said tho father, you're a strangor In the country, and it such a time ns this thcie must ba .10 strungers. You inuat really sup with us, and dine also with us tomorrow. to-morrow. I can promise you a good llnner, for It Is of Aimlo's making." All was changed. I was a strangor md they took mo In: I was louoly mil they made of mo 11 friend. Christmas day, 10:30 p. in. I returned to my room upstairs, mdo up tho lire, nnd seated mysolf beforo It. I had spoilt a vory pleasant lay, and a pleasant oveulng hoforo hat. I did not now fool so dlscour-iged. dlscour-iged. so hopeless. That was 11 nlco family, very friendly and cnnslderato. Vinl I begun to build In the fire. I , tin longer saw only ruins. I saw. ns 1 wero, n plensnnt homo rlso out of 1I10 coals, and a pleasing fnco looked up at me out of them vory much llko ilint of Annie. Ah! If tho old homo vine gone, might I not build ono that would bo new. I need no longer live in tho past, hut look to the future, and,- e next 'Christmas, ploaso Rod I woul f not bo alone, that Is If Aunlo butjj cannot say will consont to put an end to m loneliness and holp In building up n future. |