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Show Gt By Susan McCarrel $ I FIRST PRIZE STORY Stiffly Charles moved with him to the small sofa in front of the fire. He sat straight on the very edge, staring into the flames. Prof. White settled near him, and his wife was on the arm above her husband. 'This isn't along story, Charles, Char-les, but it's a true one. Many years ago a couple who lived in a city named Nazareth, couldn't pay their taxes ..." And he went on with the story of the Nativity. His voice was soft and he used words a small boy could easily understand. He told of the great Star, fearful shepherds, consoling angels, and of the three Wise Men and why they journeyed to see the Child in the Manger. "They believed in Him all of them, Charles as does the whole Christian world. You remember re-member the Kings brought gifts to the Christ Child? That's why we express our faith and love with Christmas presents. Santa is our symbol for that love. He is no fat little man with black boots .and a white beard; he is a Spirit. He is holly, trees, bells, gifts, and most of all love. He is Christmas. We believe in him, and we want vou to believe, too." Silence for a moment and then, confused, Charles said, "But I have no presents, and you have." Mrs. White gently explained, "The Child had no gift for the Kings, either. Only his love and his promise of faith for the world. That's all we want of you, dear." The, boy's face was blank. He moved from the couch and picked pick-ed up his Stocking from the floor. He hung it over the nail in the mantel and went back to bed, without a word. The couple let him go, not knowing if he understood, or was mocking them. "Do you think he'll tell them?" a worried Mrs. White asked. "We'll have to wait and see, dear. They're old enough to know anyway," was the professor's profes-sor's answer. Next morning Carol' and Dick dragged their parents out of bed. "The tree lights are on!" they cried. Downstairs they trooped, and found Charles, sitting in front of the tree, a big airplane in his arms. He turned at their voices. "I say, Aunt Mary Ellen, look what Santa left me!" Charles was eleven, and this was his first Christmas. The London slums had taught him nothing about the holiday, except ex-cept that it was to be laughed at. The little English refugee, did just that when Carol and Dick White asked him what he'd like from Santa. His laughter reached reach-ed Prof, and Mrs. White in the library. The boy's American guardians had an idea what he was laughing at. They agreed the past months had been hard both for Charles and themselves. them-selves. He had ben a street urchin, ur-chin, and finally the Whites had tamed his violent language down to a calmer"gee whiz!", like Dick's. His actions had been made, after a fashion, more American. This happened just after Thanksgiving also his first. The shop windows were big gobs of color. Dick and Carol were very excited, for they knew what December 25 would bring. In spite of his efforts, Charles was caught in all the hurry-scurry of shopping, wishing and guessing. guess-ing. His curiosity was hidden behind a scornful face and frequent fre-quent sneering laughs. The professor explained to Mary Ellen, his wife, Dick and Carol, "We have to expect this attitude, for he thinks Christmas Christ-mas is only an imaginative St Nicholas, and not a spirit. We must be patient and keep our own Christmas faith, and when the time comes, share it with him." Mrs. White tried to help the boy do some shopping1, but he would have nothing to do with it. The professor persuaded her it was all right; Christmas had not yet come and Charles would still find the true meaning of the day. Christmas Eve finally came The night could have been nothing noth-ing else! It had stopped snowing, snow-ing, and like a white, down quilt, snow lay over the nearby campus. cam-pus. The moon was a big pond of ice, with chips from it for stars. It was not really cold, for the warmth of the Spirit filled all outdoors. Dick and Carol jumped for joy as the tree was placed in the big bay window. Everything was ready to be placed on it. With great brown eyes pleading for understanding, Charles moved to Mary Ellen, who was sorting ornaments. In a timid voice he said, "I say, may I hold one, Mrs. White?" She put a round red ball in- to the small cupped hands. It seemed to fascinate him the redness, the painted holly around the middle and his own thin face distorted in the reflection. Dick called to the other boy, "Why don't you hang it on the tree, Charles?" With careful step, lest he drop it, Charles went to the tree and hung the shining ornament on a low brach. As he stepped back, he realized four pairs of eyes were watching him, and four minds were thinking he had changed his mind about Santa. For a moment he Jwd forgotten, but now he remembered. He went directly to the stairs, and about halfway up he turned and said in a steady voice, "There is no Santa Claus, and I will never believe in him." His back was very straight as he went to his room. Mrs. White started after him, but her husband hus-band took her arm. "Let him alone a while, Mary Ellen. He'll find what he's looking look-ing for." The family finished decorating decorat-ing the tree, sang carols and hung up their stockings in front of the fireplace all without Charles. Ready for bed, Dick and Carol brought their packages and laid them under the tree. After having been tucked in and wished "Merry Christmas," the three were left in their beds. "Quiet, isn't it?" whispered ten-year-old Carol. "Santa won't come unless it is, silly," Dick answered. A snicker arose from the third bed. "You don't believe us, do you, Charles?" Dick asked. "I'll bet-cha bet-cha Santa's down there now. He's fillin' stockin's and layin' out presents, an', gee whiz, just bein' Santa Claus." . "You just go down and see." Carol dared. They had been asleep for a while before the boy crept from his warm bed, silently opened the door and moved downstairs. Prof, and Mrs. White were quietly laughing over the panda bear Carol had asked for. Together To-gether they turned to the white-faced white-faced boy on the stairs. "I knew you're not Santa Claus! You teach your children lies! They told me to come and see, and I did, and I'm going to tell them you did this gee whiz!" The professor was now standing stand-ing in front of the angry boy. "Will you let me tell you a story, son? You don't have to listen, but I'd like you to." |