Ethel’s Christmas Tale.

Chicago, Ill., Dec. 2.

To the Editor.—My little daughter Ethel, who is only eleven years old, has written a Christmas story, which I send to you, in the hope that you will recognize in it some indication of latent literary and imaginative talent.

Yours truly,

H. G. B.

A CHRISTMAS STORY.

It was a sad sight to see Mrs. Jamison and her little family gathered about the fire one Christmas Eve, for she had been a widow for twenty years. Yes, twenty years before had Mr. Jamison, her husband, set sail on a ship for a foreign land, and nevermore had been heard of. The snow was falling fast, and the wind was howling without.

“Alas!” Mrs. Jamison said, as she pressed her hungry babe to her bosom: “I fear we shall have no turkey to-morrow.”

“Why not, mother?” asked Robin, a bright lad of fourteen.

“Listen,” said Mrs. Jamison. “I have only thirty cents left. To-day I pawned my jewels, and thus we are cast upon the mercy of the cold world.”

Mrs. Jamison wept bitterly, and so did the children.

“Oh, if Henry were only here!” moaned Mrs. 136Jamison. Henry was Mr. Jamison’s name before he was lost at sea, never, never to return. By and by Mrs. Jamison said, “Put on your fur cape, Lucy, and take this thirty cents, and go down to the grocery-store, and buy one dozen eggs. It is all the money I have; but the eggs will allay our hunger, and keep the wolf from the door another day.”

So Lucy, who was a beautiful girl of fifteen, put on her fur cape; and Robin went with her. Having bought the eggs, each of them took an apple when Mr. Sinclair, the kind-hearted grocer, was not looking; and with joyous hearts they rode home in the street-car. While Lucy was eating her apple, she put the bag of eggs on the seat; and suddenly a big man entered the car, and sat down on the bag. Then Lucy began to cry, and Robin too.

“Children,” said the big man in kind tones, “why do you weep?”

“Alas!” said Lucy: “you have sat on our bag of eggs.”

“Never mind the eggs,” said the man. “But, tell me, have I not heard that voice before, and have I not seen those features? Is your name Lucy Jamison?”

“Yes, sir,” said Lucy.

“Then look upon me, child,” cried the man, “and tell me if you do not know me. Has time and sorrow changed me so that my children do not know me?”

137“Father, father!” cried Lucy, throwing herself into her father’s arms.

It was indeed Mr. Jamison. He had been wrecked on a lone island for twenty years; but a passing ship picked him up, and brought him home. He was very rich; and, oh, what a happy meeting it was for Mrs. Jamison and the children! They had turkey for dinner, and cranberries, and lived in peace all the rest of their lives.