The Long Ago | Page 5

and not have enough to
go 'round - or that he had not been correctly informed as to just what
you wanted - or that some accident, might have befallen his
reindeer-and-sleigh to detain him until the grey dawn of Christmas
morning stopped his work and sent him scurrying back to his toy
kingdom to await another Yule-tide.
And so, in the fearful silence and darkness of that early hour, with
stilled breath and heart beating so loudly you thought it would awaken
everyone in the house, You softly opened the door - poked your arm
through - felt around where the stocking ought to be, but with a great
sinking in your heart when you didn't find it the first time - and finally
your chubby fist clutched the misshapen, lumpy, bulging fabric that
proclaimed a generous Santa Claus.
Yes, it was there!
That was enough for the moment. A hurried climb back into the warm
bed - and then interminable years of waiting until your attuned ear
caught the first sounds of grandmother's dressing in her nearby
bedroom, and the first gleam of winter daylight permitted you to see
the wondrous stocking and the array of packages on the sofa. It was
beyond human strength to refrain from just one look. But alas! The
sight of a dapple-grey rocking-horse with silken mane and flowing tail
was too much, and the next moment you were in the room with your
arms around his arched neck, while peals of unrestrained joy brought
the whole family to the scene. Then it was that mother gathered you
into her lap, and wrapped her skirt about your bare legs, and held your

trembling form tight in her arms until you promised to get dressed if
they would open just one package - the big one on the end of the sofa.
After that there was always "just one more, please!" and by that time
the base burner was warming up and you were on the floor in the
middle of the discarded wrapping-paper, uncovering each wonderous
package down to the very last - the very, very last - in the very toe of
the stocking - the big round one that you were sure was a real league
ball but proved to be nothing but an orange! . . .
No Santa Claus? Huh! . . .
If there isn't any Santa Claus, what does he put all the sample toys in
the stores for every Christmas so boys and girls can see what they want?
If he doesn't fill the stockings, who does, I'd like to know. Some folks
say that father and mother do it - but s'posin, they do, it's only to help
Santa Claus sometimes when he's late or overworked, or something like
that.
The Spirit of Christmas is Santa Claus - else how could he get around
to everybody in the whole world at exactly the same time of the night?
There is a new high-power motor in my garage. It came to me
yesterday - Christmas. It is very beautiful, and it cost a great deal of
money, a very great deal. If we were in the Little Old Town it would
take us all out to Aunt Em's farm in ten minutes. (It always took her an
hour to drive in with the old spotted white mare.)
I am quite happy to have this wonderful new horse of today, and there
is some warmth inside of me as I walk around it in the garage while
Henry, its keeper, flicks with his chamois every last vestige of dust
from its shiny sides.
And yet . . . how gladly would I give it up if only I could have been in
my feather bed last night - if I could have awakened at daybreak and
crept softly, red-flanneled and barefooted, to the parlor door - if I could
have groped for grandmother's stocking and felt its lumpy shape
respond to my eager touch - and if I could have known the thrill of that
dapple-grey rocking-horse when I flung my arms around its neck and

buried my face in its silken mane!

Butter, Eggs, Ducks, Geese

It seems mighty convenient to telephone your grocer to send up a
pound of butter and have it come all squeezed tight into a nice
square-cornered cardboard box whose bright and multi-colored label
assures you that the butter has been properly deodorized fumigated,
washed, sterilized, antisepticized and conforms in every other respect to
the Food and Drugs Act, Serial 1762973-A. You read the label again
and feel reasonably safe at meals.
Huh! Precious little grandmother knew about that kind of butter!
Hers came in a basket - a great big worn-brown-and-shiny, round
bottom, willow basket, hand-wove. It didn't come in