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Show I A FAR CRY The Story of a Happy Christmas By MACLYN DUPREC (Copyright, 1901, by Short Htory Fnbllshlnf Co.) It had not been easy for John Wellington, Sr.; to select his Christmas Christ-mas gifts this year, although his old wife and one or two servants wero all for whom he had to provide. It was Christmas eve, and ho had been through bookstores, where handsomely bound volumes of story writers, philosophers and poets were,, displayed on every counter; through brilliantly lighted Jewolry stores, whoro precious stones gleamed softly against backgrounds back-grounds of rich velvet; through tho perfumed shop of the florist, whero delicate blossoms from famous greenhouses green-houses breathed forth a fragrance that gavo tho lie to the bitter wind and swirling snow outside. With each ho had left a generous check, but always with an unsatisfied feeling that ho wns paying for something ho did not care to have. Finally, ho had been lured Into n shop whoso windows displayed an nttructlve lot of toys for small boys, and 13 had selected from Its almost endless store of guns, wagons, wonderful wonder-ful animals and ear-splitting "wind Instruments," In-struments," n red tin horn, costing him only 25 cents. This had given him more satisfaction satisfac-tion than any purchnse ho had made for many times that nniount. The other parcels he had ordered delivered, but this he had carried himself, him-self, ns though It wcro something too precious to bo trusted to other hands, it was this that ho unwrapped befora "I Bought It for a Memory, Mother." the big, old-fashioned flreplnco whero his wlfo sat, as soon ns he had come In from tho storm-swept street. As ho hold It up whore the red gleam of tho firelight was caught on its rounded surface, a look of surprlso swept over tho gentle old faco near him. "Why, John, you never bought that! Surely they handed you someone else's purchase." I "No," ho said, his face growing suddenly sud-denly tender, "I bought it." His wife, with a woman's quick instinct, in-stinct, divined tho reason. Sho stepped nearer to him and laying hor hand on his arm, looked at him with pleading eyes, saying: "Rut why, father?" It was the first time sho had called him fathPr for a decado past, and thoro was u pitiful break In tho old man's voico ns he replied: "I bought It for a memory, mother." That was the first time) In ten years ho had called hor mother, and at tho sound of tho mime, she, too, gavo way gave way, womanlike, leaning hor head on his arm, and sobbing out a grief that had silently stolon the roses from her checks and the light from her eyes us the years had gone by. Tho old man's arm went round hor lover-fashion, whlio his hand gently gent-ly strokod hor soft white hair. "Thoro, there, mothor, dear, The boy's not dead. I'll find htm for you, If I have to hunt tho world over. I was to blamo," ho said, with such Infinite regret re-gret In his voice that tho old wife reached up and drew his head down to hor face and whlspored: "Don't tako It so, fathor. I know you thought you wero doing tho best for tha boy whon you sent him away to do or dlo on his own account, and somohow I feel tonight, to-night, as I have never felt before, that he may be found." Ah sho spoke, something In hor tones mado him feel that at last his wife had forgiven him entirely for tho decision which, ten years before, had robbed her of her only child. Always before this ho felt through all her gen-tin gen-tin and kindly care for him, that tucked away somewhore In tho silent recesses of hor being there was Just n little bitterness against him for tho chtldlosB state he had brought upon her. Hut now that he, himself, had come to repent It, ho knew beyond a doubt that tho last drop ot that bitterness bitter-ness had been swallowed up In a grief grown sweet from being shared, He sat down In his great nrm chair and looked up with misty eyes at his wife. "You're right," mother. I did think It bcsL I would rather have seen him dead than 'worthless, and I knew If he had worth, he would conquer con-quer himself, nnd rlso without my atd, more of a man than with It." She put her arm around his neck and patted his choek. "Ho has rlson somowhere, father. I know It. Ho could not be your son and fall," she said, the loyalty loy-alty and love of a llfotlmo lighting her face with a soft radiance Ho took up' the tin horn from the table whore he had laid It, and fondled It as If It were fraught with memories, Instead of merely recalling them. "It's ten years slnco he left," he said, "what a man he must be now 31 to-night. Rut I was thinking, when I bought this, 'of the time when ho was such a little yellow-hairod toddler, and almost drove us wild with Just such a horn as this at Christmas time." She took tho horn from him, and looking dreamily at It, said: "We'll keep this, father; maybe Jack's boy will somo tlrao make these old walls ring with It at Christmas timo as ho made thom ring, himself, so many years ago." "God grant that he may!" Bald tho old man. "Do you remember, mothor, how ho used to como chasing down the street nfter mo whon I would start oft to my work in tho morning?" "Yes, nnd how you would pick him up and carry him back to me," sho said. "And do you rcmombcr the timo wo came near losing him, the day he ran away to hunt you In the city?" "Who that saw you thon could forget for-get It, mother?" nnd ho took her hand In his and drew her down to the chair beside him. Thoy sat hand In hand In tho silence, given over to voiceless memories of tho past, only the ticking of tho old clock keeping an accompaniment accom-paniment to their dreams of other I Christmns Eves. They wero sitting thus an hour later whon a servant opened tho door and said, respectfully: respectful-ly: 'There Is a telophono call for Mr. Wellington." "Can't you nnswor It, Mnry?" tho old man asked, loath to lcavo his comfortable com-fortable chair and dreams. "No, sir. It Is especially for you. A longdlstanco call, I think." "Who tho deuce wants to tnlk to mo from a distance," ho said, as he roso and wont to tho telephone in tho hall. "Hello, who Is this?" he asked, as ho picked up tho roceivor. "Yes, this Is John Wellington." "A party In Chicago wants to tnlk to you," Bald the long-dlBtanco 6per-ator. 6per-ator. "All right, put him up. Who In thunder do I know In Chicago," he ejaculated to himself, pressing tho receiver re-ceiver closer to his ear. A peculiar walling sound wns nil he heard, "and a puzzled expression crept over his face. "Talk a llttlo louder. I can't understand a thing you aro saying," and ho listened more Intently. Intent-ly. The walling grow n llttlo loudor, but still It was nothing but an Inarticulate Inartic-ulate wail, and for n moment tho old man looked thoroughly dlsgustod. "Confound It!" ho shouted at last "You sound exactly llko a mowllng Infant. In-fant. I don't know what you are Baying." Bay-ing." Then a man's laugh was heard, followed fol-lowed by "A morry Christmas, father. You know exactly what ho sounds like, but you don't know what he Is saying," and there was another laugh, ringing Joyful, ns In his boyhood days, and the old man knew ho had found his own. "Jack, Jack, my boy, is that you?" ho shouted, staggered by tho unexpected unex-pected Joy of his sudden dlscovory. "Nono other, father, but what you just heard was another Jack, tho second sec-ond Jack Wellington, Jr. He has just arrived, and his commnnd of English is somewhat limited, but ho was doing his best to lntroduco himself, nnd Invito In-vito you nnd grandma to ChrlstmnB dinner with him, and" "Oh, Jack, Jack, where havo you been all these years?" sobbed tho old man. "Catch tho Lako Shore Limited tonight, to-night, father, bring mother with you, and I'll tell you all about It when you get hero. You've got timo. You see, fathor, I've kept track of you and mother all along. I wasn't going to let anything happen to tho old folks, nnd " thero was a catch In his volco, "I've got tho right kind of a roport to make, father. Never fear that." Tho old man could scarcely contnln himself as he listened, pressing the receiver re-ceiver closer nnd closer to his car, as though ho feared somo bit of the precious news might escape him. Then he shouted: "All right, son, we'ro coming on the next train." He loft tho recoiver dangling on tho wall, and Bturted on a run to the room whero bis wlfo sat, shouting as he went: "Mother, mothor. It's Jack our boy. Got ready, mother. I'm going go-ing to have a cab here in 20 minutes to catch tho train for Chicago." Sho had risen with a wild look on her face, and had started to question htm, but ho shook his head, saying: "No, no, I'll explain later. Not got time now. Wo'ro going to spend Christmas with Jack and bis boy." Ho started for the 'phono again, and then dashed back, exclaiming: "Pack tho tin horn if you don't pack another thing. Any child that can cry loud enough to be heard nil the way from Chicago ought to havo breath enough to blow that horn," and ho dashed again to tho 'phone to order o cab. |