OCR Text |
Show (Djl, Harold L.Cookfc mil. BKI-:s settled back comfoit yj ably in the new easy chair 111 which his daughter-in-law had R, given him for Christmas. His feel were resting on a little footstool foot-stool from liis granddaughter; In ttis I mouth was a briar pipe from his grand s-on, and on his lap a first edition ot Tom Sawyer from his son. lie was , clad in a velvet lounging robe from one of his daughters, and under his ' white beard could be seen a new Christmas tie and the edges of a new silk shirt. Comfortable looking slippers slip-pers adorned his feet, and a new reading read-ing glass was iu his hand. A box ot Havana cigars, a dozen books, ties, socks, and a fountain pen were on a table at his side. Mr. Bees was smoking and gazing In to the fire. The strains of a New York orchestra playing "Holy Night" came to his ears from the mahogany radio in the corner. The seventy-live electric elec-tric bulbs on a beautifully ornamented Christmas tree furnished the only light in the room except that from the fire. The music of laughter came from an adjoining room. But Mr. Bees was not conscious of his surroundings. As he was gazing gaz-ing into the tire his thoughts were traveling through the mysterious flame Into a distant pasL lie was living over again the first, and perhaps the happiest Christmas day that he could remember, a Christinas day some seventy-five years before. In a tiny house in what was then called Canada West, now known as Ontario, a poor family was struggling against the elements for Its very existence exist-ence on the frontier of civilization. pflliHllSiil?!! "Ob, Marvel of Marvels a Big Red Apple!" Mr. B.es must have been four or five years old at the time. His mother and father were In their early twen ties. The one-rooln house was practically prac-tically buried in a drift of snow that Christmas eve. Mr. Bees, then only Ted, was busy admiring the pictures painted by Jack Frost on the one window of the little lit-tle home. Such hoar frost I Was there ever the like of It before or since I It was a veritable forest of ferus and trees and bushes, snowy white, more beautiful even than the green ones that grew so thickly In summer along the little stream In back of the house and more impenetrable. Stars and planets and comets were in this frosty forest, too, and here and there the outline of a palace, at least for the imagination of little Ted. It was the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen, or probably ever would see, In this world at least. He could see It now, in memory, as plalnl.v.as lie saw It then. His mother was at the stove preparing prepar-ing supper. Soon she called hlm from his reverie, and he sat down by the soap box with her and with his father. fa-ther. A pan of warm milk was on the box and In the milk were hunks of bread a feast for a king. Each of the little family took a spoon and ate from the brimming pan. How good It tasted1. Would he could taste It now. I While his mother 8-epl up the crumbs Ted hung his stocking near the stove. Then his mother pulled out the trundle bed, and In two mln-1 mln-1 utes Ted was in the land of dreams, j How cold the house was that Christ-; Christ-; mas morning when at live o'clock he Jumped from his trundle bed nnd ran to the stove to get his storking 1 lie took It quickly hack to bed. and dug his hand way down Into the toe to see what Santa had left fin hlm Oh. marvel ol marvels, a big red applet And four little animal cookies I liut last ami best ot all. a stick ot pep permint candy striped with red What more could uny child desire? "Your after dinner coffee, plr." said a while he-cupped maid at his elbow As tie drank the coftee. and looked, into the lire, and listened to the music Mr. Bees heard only the pun ot milk simmering fin the stove, saw onlj the hoar frost forest mid lasted otilj the itirli of iep.fi-mint cHtnly. his hap niost memories le life, perhaps n-J8 w..i.rn Npw.pHpi i-r,in , |