Christmas | Page 8

"Sensible move," said Matthew, sharpening his ax by the kitchen stove.
"It'll be a relief for most folks not to have the muss and the clutter,"
said Ellen's mother.
"Hey, king and country!" said Ellen's old father, whittling a stick, "I

ain't done no more'n look on at a Christmas for ten years and
more--with no children around so."
"I know," said Ellen Bourne, "I know...."
The announcement was greeted by Mortimer Bates with a slap of the
knee.
"Good-by, folderol!" he said. "We need a sane Christmas in the world a
good sight more'n we need a sane Fourth, most places. Good work."
But Bennet and Gussie Bates burst into wails.
"Hush!" said Mis' Bates, peremptorily. "You ain't the only ones,
remember. It's no Christmas for nobody!"
"I thought the rest of 'em would have one an' we could go over to
theirs...." sobbed Gussie.
"I'd rather p'etend it's Christmas in other houses even if we ain't it!"
mourned Bennet.
"Be my little man and woman," admonished Mis' Mortimer Bates.
At the Morans, little Emily Moran made an unexpected deduction:--
"I won't stay in bed all day Christmas!" she gave out.
"Stay in bed!" echoed Mis' Moran. "Why on this earth should you stay
in bed?"
"Well, if we get up, then it's Christmas and you can't stop it!" little
Emily triumphed.
When they told Pep, the minister's son, after a long preparation by story
and other gradual approach, and a Socratic questioning cleverly
winning damning admissions from Pep, he looked up in his father's
face thoughtfully:--

"If they ain't no Christ's birthday this year, is it a lie that Christ was
born?" he demanded.
And secretly the children took counsel with one another: Would Buff
Miles, the church choir tenor, take them out after dark on Christmas
Eve, to sing church choir serenades at folks' gates, or would he not?
And when they thought that he might not, because this would be
considered Christmas celebration and would only make the absence of
present-giving the more conspicuous, as in the case of the Sunday
schools themselves, they faced still another theological quandary: For if
it was true that Christ was born, then Christmas was his birthday; and if
Christmas was his birthday, wasn't it wicked not to pay any attention?
Alone of them all, little Tab Winslow rejoiced. His brothers and sisters
made the time tearful with questionings as to the effect on Santa Claus,
and how would they get word to him, and would it be Christmas in the
City, and why couldn't they move there, and other matters denoting the
reversal of this their earth. But Tab slipped out the kitchen door, to the
corner of the barn, where the great turkey gobbler who had been named
held his empire trustingly.
"Oh, Theophilus Thistledown," said Tab to him, "you're the only one in
this town that's goin' to have a Christmas. You ain't got to be et."

IV
The placard was tacked to the Old Trail Town post-office wall,
between a summons to join the Army and the Navy of the United States,
and the reward offered for an escaped convict--all three manifestoes
registering something of the stage of society's development.
NOTICE
Owing to the local business depression and to the current private
decisions to get up very few home Christmas celebrations this year, and
also to the vote of the various lodges, churches, Sunday schools, etc.,
etc., etc., to forego the usual Christmas tree observances, the merchants

of this town have one and all united with most of the folks to petition
the rest to omit all Christmas presents, believing that the Christmas
spirit will be kept up best by all agreeing to act alike. All that's willing
may announce it by signing below and notifying others.
THE COMMITTEE.
There were only three hundred folk living in Old Trail Town. Already
two thirds of their signatures were scrawled on the sheets of foolscap
tacked beneath the notice.
On the day after her return home, Jenny Wing stood and stared at the
notice. Her mother had written to her of the town's talk, but the placard
made it seem worse.
"I'll go in on the way home and see what Mary says," she thought, and
asked for the letter that lay in Mary Chavah's box, next her own. They
gave her the letter without question. All Old Trail Town asks for its
neighbour's mail and reads its neighbour's postmarks and gets to know
the different Writings and to inquire after them, like persons. ("He ain't
got so much of a curl to his M to-day," one will say of a superscription.
"Better write right back and chirk 'im up." Or, "Here's Her that don't
seal her letters good. Tell her about that, why don't you?" Or, "This
Writing's a