The Cedarville Herald, Volume 23, Numbers 27-52

rtftf >Wf~» ' 4 Oristmas EfHtiofi j*I(M T P A G E S fENT-Y-IfflRP YEAR, HQ. S 2 , ACHRISTMAS TRUCE. * ♦ Story cf «un American Boy In Paris. CEDARVIUE. OHIO. DECEMBER 15. 1900. SBWmm*U«**e*s.'U-,r,. :\r-r- o W i l l n o t BY ZOE ANDERSON NORRIS. C o p y r i g h t , 1 0 0 0 , b y Zoo A n d e r s o n N o r r i s , '^=5* o | _ ^ - iO I t *omo Inexplicable reason they M I pass over Christmas day in * France and celebrate the Now i Year instead. There is no cheer on Christmas day, no holly and no plum pudding. There was no use in hanging up a stocking the night before because there waH nobody to till ft. Be­ sides, unhappily, my stocking hanging time is over. \Ve h»4 expected something like it— poddy, Jthe hoy from Milwaukee, and I, We had been prepared by the Swefla with the long yellow mustache who sat at the foot of the table. "It will be just like any other day," he had said, and It had been, only worse; In the first place, it rained; in the sec­ ond place, it not only rained, but it pour­ ed, and, in the third place, Doddy and I had quarreled. If you want tally to appreciate an American hoy like Doddy, you must first -live iu England awhile. Then he bursts upon you with the radiance of a noon­ day sun, Doddy could hardly say that 1 failed to appreciate him. He. never cracked a joke that I didn’t laugh until the tears capae, I f he toid a' story, be considered me practically—being' the only American at the table and consequently the only , individual in possession bf a sense of humor sufficient for the under- ataadfisg of it—his sole audience. Thus VbetWwgh'much telling oratories and more laughingA t them our friendship appeared to be cemented, to be planted squarely upon a sure and .firm foundation, but It is about just such things as that that you can never tell. It was over next to nothing that we quarreled, the simplest thing in the world. I t wqB this; The first time I saw him he came into the dining room with his head ' shaved close. “I went into a barber shop,” he told us, “and look what the tnatt dld to uie! I knew enough French to start him, and then I didn’t know enough to get him to stop.” That struck me as hilariously funny. Even.the foreigners laughed when it was omest Aggregation iur good fortune to lerable margin, en. tion being fine Im- of Springfield and istactory than dur- ise that everything Dry Goods lilies in nas Cards, Prayer uaries, Lamps. Im kur north aisle. ires and beautiful n in this city for rnd no duplicates, at prices that will all general lines, ns. Cloaks, Suits, ns, Carpets, IIos ds, Blankets, Cur­ lings, the largests in Springfield all much needed room ige, Dress Shirts, Hosiery, Suspen- jaters; useful and K* L, O. i t w « lies, a s s . le la b r a s j iu G o l d a n d S ilv e f t 'm n y • Novcltu**# € M ilo* “I.OOKWHATTH* MAWBIDTOH*l” translated to them. So it happened that in writing back I mentioned Doddy and related this anecdote of hlin. HOw could I know that they would hand my private letter over to an editor and that the editor would proceed prompt­ ly to publish it? How could I know even that the papers, always On the lookout for a glint of tun, would copy the little story here, there and everywhere, and that in four or five weeks’ time those same papers would appear upon the ta­ bles of every American reading room in Paris, and, worse still, that numerous friends of the boy would bind him cop­ ies and laugh? For, alas, I had given his nave! This was my first intimation of it. 1 was sitting in my room mending my glove when there came a knock at the door. "Entrexl” I called out in my newly ac­ quired French. The door opened, and there stood Doddy# 1 sprang up, threw the glove aside and ran to meet him, glad, as I always am. to see the boy from Milwaukee. “Gome in! Ctjme in!” I cried. “I am dead lonesome. Bring your mandolin and let's have a jig. 1 have learned the piano accompaniment by now.” But there Wa* silver an answering •wile on the bey’s countenance. He faced me with a look that struck cold to my heart. The entile died on mine. I start­ ed tack as k I had had a blow and stared. Could this be my dear old Dod­ dy?” “I should like to see you for one mo meat” he said in a manner aa cold as his face and in the firm, severe tones of a full grown man, “Why, certainly,” I gasped, "for two if yon like! .Where—in the little kitch­ en that Isn’t used or hi the hall or out in the big hall, with the concierge look­ ing on?” For there was no salon, and the precision of Daddy's manner called for s salon or something, if possible, even wort impressive. . .. . “This Is no joke,” said he, and there was not the twinkle of a laugh at the corners of hia mouth or in Ida eyes. Beaching !* the pocket of his vset, k produced n slip cat from * paper and thrust It at m*. t took it wonderiagiy and read a scrap from my letter w th the account o f Doddy and hla cute little hair catting'joke, 1 read to the Ink*, then look * s p a t him. „ . "Wall, what of ft?” 1 inquired. "What o f It?" ho Waaed. “Nothing, only they have been poking the thing at me the whole day long; nothing, only 1 am the laUgMag « m k o fth e wtsWUh- went, 1 am the joke of Parts, the boy who didn’t knew «*•*»» Fwoeh to get his haircut, That’* a»I ***** , “Oh, Doddy* Oh, D oW r r i sijdwd. And after a tlme. vwy hnmMy, mean K that way,” I esplalned. **t was I lrtitfo | BffW ft to L tS S S k S ttow could I know that It m M g r tM * the hand* of *a ad ltorr "You ought to have known,” be storm­ ed, “since you write. You writers, you hare no respect for the private affairs of people, so you make money out of them, you publish anything. Nothing Is private to you. Nothing is sacred.” “Doddy,” I remonstrated, “that was no private affair. You said it right there at the table with a dozen listening. Didn’t you?” “ I did,” he acknowledged defiantly, "hut do yon suppose I thought once of you?” The accept on that "you” came near bringing tbe tears. “I forgot you were a penny-a-liner; that you were sit­ ting there taking the thing down, con­ gratulating yourself that you were to get so much a word for it.” “A penny-a-liner I" "So much (a wordl” A penny-a-liner doesn’t get no much a word even. "Doddy,” I said presently* quite calmly, too, considering everything, “I didn't get a cent for that anecdote, not a red cent, It waa a private letter not intended fori publication. Won’t you believe that?” I "You can’t believe anything these poo- > pie who write say," he declared. "They mix their imagination up so with facts that they get so they can’t tell the truth. You know it. And now see what you have done. Yon have made me notori- wyerif that It was Christmas day, and oc cupied myself briskly with my toilet to keep from thinking what a royal good time they were all having at home, Then I gave a few franca to Florence of the velvet foot and to Aime, the cook, after which I went out Into tire rain to the Gate fit. Lazare, where Xbought a great bunch of French rosea for mademoiselle, presented them to her, received her thanks and compliments, profusely ex­ pressed In English so fractured as to be scarcely recognizable, and, retiring to my room, worked oil day long at that penny- a-liner business for which 1 was so look­ ed down upon l>y the hoy from Milwau­ kee, trying to pretend that It was only an ordinary every day and not Christmas at all. From my window 1 could see the rain descending dismally into the court, the palms huddled in one corner and the big drenched bronze girl, whose uplifted arms, bolding up tbe lamp, gave me at times a feeling of such intense weariness. One bright spot alohe gleamed through the window of the concierge’s room, which was opposite mine, two stories be­ low, It was his fire over which he bent, reading ait the letters before he sent them up to the rooms. The day passed sopichow, and It was evening. The boy had not>come to din­ ner. I sat waiting for him in my room. I waited a long time. X had his cigarette case in my hand ready, for after a Christ­ mas day of such loneliness I was deter* mined, if possible, to make friends with him again. 1 waa afraid of going to sleep and dreaming the day all over again otherwise. At laBt I heard his latchkey In the door and his footstep in the hall. 1 wait­ ed until he should have had time to light his candle; then, softly opening my door, I went out and halted,, looking at him. -. He was standing by the heavy mahog­ any table upon which flickered his candle. I haven’t much''pride when it comes to a question of happiness or unhappiness. In a lowly manner I approached him. He started at seeing me, but glanced up wltb- ”Christm«st” be repeated, and the tone was enough, "Did yon get any presents?” I asked him after a moment of silence, though his manner hardly invited interrogation. It toft we tutder'ihe impression, on the con­ trary, that he was csrefully weighing his words, perfectly aware of the. fact that they would eventually appear in some American newspaper at so much per. "They have forgotten me," he **ld by and by. “I haven’t been over here six months, and, by Jove, they have forgot­ ten all about me.” They hadn’t. The mails bad been de­ layed. That was all. But tbe day bad passed.. Opposite the table is a big carvjbd chair. He wept over, to it, doubled himself up in a disconsolate heap there, clasped his two bauds about bis knees and dropped his •chin on his young breaBt, which bested. I hesitated for one moment only. Then I went to him, took his head la my hands, drew U back, bent forward and kissed him. With a sob be threw his arms arottnd me and gave me n bear hug that took away my breath,. "Quit!” I cried. “You aro killing me!" He bugged me ail the tighter. Looking up radiantly, he whispered; “Let’s forget those people back there. They have for­ gotten us, Let’s be married, you and I, and live in a. little flat and be happy ever • f tRf w ' "Would you marry a penny-a-liner?” I asked. 'i , ‘‘Don’t be mean," he commanded, frowning. ■ * ' By this time I had rescued myself. I stood a little way off. . ■ ■■. "I'wIU marry you,” I told him from there,. "When you have got to be as old as I am «na I as young as you.” "But' that wlH never be/’ he objected wistfully# "Of ceurse not, foolish.” I had arriv­ ed at » y door. "Anyway,” I concluded# with my hand on the knob, “laying, the question *f marriage aside, here ia your PRINCE GINJAN. A Christmas Fairy Story For the Children. - - s ' - ■ > y a ' X 4 - - '..A # - ; > ^ i C oovimsht . isoo, av wskimson co ., n , v . UNDER THE MISTLETOE ooa. Do you suppose 1 want cheap news­ paper notoriety like that? I bate ItI I hate it!” X was stricken to the dust—mnte. In a storm of anger he flung himself ont of the room and slammed the door. After that he sat dumb and unforgiv­ ing a t one end of the long table, and l sat silently at the other. It was impos­ sible to catch his eye. n e refused by so nneh s s a look to reveal his cognisance of any existence. , , _ Then Christmas day approached. We had arranged fof the day. Doddy and I, We had prepared to ward off homesick* •cos, to a certain extent i t least. II# was to make me * present, and 1 was to make him one. „ ■ ., "There Is a little beet of Napoleon 1* * shop down in the B ee fit. Bonore that I went,” I told Mm, "Yon get It for ine, and I will buy yon n dgnrette ess# ht the same shop, They cost about the Same money. Ia it • go?” . v "It's n go,” answered he, and we shook hands on it, # , , * As a matter of fact, I hsd already piir- chased the cigarette ease. It was stow­ ed away in the bottom of my armob# drawer for safe keeping. Nowand again I took It out and looked at it, ranking how proud the boy would be to offer his elgirettes In that pretty new cam in the place of his old owe, which wa# finger marked and worn at the edges, - And now it wa* all over. Ferhaps he would acorn to take It front me, a penny- a-liner, a scribbler who mixed »P her fansgtaatlon with facts in «« *,*r'"i** • manner that aha had at last an lreda t A stag* wherein ahe Could no longer apeak the truth. t The morning arrived, and, aa l esr, It aet only rained, hut ^poured. J dg»osU. ed « franc or two I t the hand at SetM* who browgbt me *»? chocolate, to remind out a smile. His face la the light of the candle hurt my heart# "Won't yon forgive toe, Doddy?" I Im­ plored. "I will neves do It again—nev­ er! 1 promise you.” I dosed my fingers over the cigarette esse. I was afraid to give it to him jnst yet—afraid he might ling it back nt ine inorrsD ms chi . ho * am tmiaa **« ast . I or bntig It on tbe floor, for Doddy wa& . so young that I often wondered hew Mr j mother happened to tot him stray so 1st from home. . „ , < "What sort of Christmas bave ym had?” I vrn‘ured. talking high and light Iy, «s if nothing at all had happened, BY JANE ELLIS JOY. C o p y r i g h t , 1 0 0 0 , b y J a n e E l l i n Jo y # old cigarette case I promised you.” And I threw it at him. In my room I stood before the mirror arranging my crashed pompadour and smiling at myself, so glad was I to be friends with the boy once' more, When there came n tap at my door. I tiptoed to it, opened it and peeped ont. The hall was dark. It was empty. But there on my threshold, in all the bravery of cockade and cnirass, stood tbe little Napoleon. TOMMY TO SANTA CLAU8. Youart a dear old filcad to is*; 1 ettea dreamet you at nl«ht, And1 amSure as I tan b. Your wfchken almya hava baa white; likt Unda Tkomu*, and that You’ra very good and kind and tat, t want to kirnyour amlilng fata And rtde on horaeback on you* knee And tell you at the chimney place How good you are etch year to me To bring me cereand railroad tracka And trumpet*, block*and JumpingJacks And *o 1 with, when nest you come, Ton'll tramyour pack of plaything* (aim Beelde n>y bed, a big ted.drum Aid hang it hard until I wake, « Then gi»e me fromyour greet tat hand The thing* you bring from fairyland. And then I'll knowyou#and jree‘11know Howmuch t like the gifts you bring Andhew I’d HI*Msee you t» And be a let,- sld Jolly hinge Whoeh thtow* eh—H he M Irmied cake, Whomst«wit the hegf leaves ehonld mshe, •s it Wtth joyjsm’d'Make me Jump Meat Christmas eve~-‘tw)li eoos be b.en^» And let M» iaedlf gtoa t lump ttt sum * ts yewr good old deerr ffhase orn’t toefet when In you dowm ff* >k>yup— that big red dram, n, K. Mmit-ams. H HE eiaeg fo t ’tEe'rbyi f chlUren, Prince Ginjsn, was a very im­ portant young person. His par­ ents lavished on him nil the good things that love could suggest and money procure;while the nobles of tlia kingdom and the great ladies added gifts until it required several rooms of the pal­ ace and a village of outbuildings to hold the prince’s possessions, In spite.of all this devotion, however, and with the knowledge that a kingdom full of people were eager .to do him hom­ age, Prince Gin­ jsn wss discon­ tented. It Is said that his unhappi­ ness began with the study of the multiplication ta­ ble, No sooner had he learned that two times two are four than he wished for four toy watches instead of two, and likewise that AH*TnAT Hut-WPtoOA- ponies should be tion Tam *' multipliedbytwo. tion table . The same thoughts carno to him when he Studied the line Of threes and the fours. When it came-to the study of the eights and the nines, the trouble grew worse, for now he wanted all his treasures mul­ tiplied by eight and nine. His father, the king; reasoned with him about the extravagance of his wants, und the queen, his royal; mother, was sorry that it was impossible to indulge him, but it remained for his grandmother— partial old lady that she was—to say, “It is all the fault of the multiplication ta­ ble!” ’ Ah,-that multiplication table! It has occasioned a good deal of trouble to many l people, though perhapa never before or 1 since has it been charged with an offense , so serious. One' day when Prince Ginjan was a well grown youth a strange thing hap­ pened to him. . According to the ancient tradition, i.ie prince was industriously applying the pvmulples of multiplication in computing the number of presents h* hoped to receive on Christmas, which was ddse at hand. For some cause or other interest in the fascinating tables flagged a little. Perhaps the prince saw how pre- 'posterous it would be for one boy to have 0 times 0 saddle horses or 12 times 12 sailboats. Anyhow he fell asleep in bis study chair with his boolaffttAiMUe be­ fore him. He VHxbt- have slept tor an hour or two wheo be wSS awakened by a touch on the, shoulder, and, opening his eyes, be saw an odd looking little hunchback the like of whom he hadnever beheld before. “What do you want?'! he asked, not al­ together liking the familiarity. “What do you want yourself?” re­ turned the intruder iff a funny little squeaking voice. Fully awake, Prince .Ginjan now rub­ bed bis eyes and stared. All st once it Occurred to him that thp little hunchback was an elf and that the present might be a good chance to gratify some of his de­ sires. "Wlint do 1 want?” he repeated in a morn conciliatory tone, “Well, since you are good enough to ask, I want consid­ erable. To begin, I would like 10 cha'r- iots and '24 thoroughbred horses. Give met! takes of my own in which to catch fish and about ISO new suits of clothes. You might let me have a couple of thou­ sand new books, and a few hundred of the latest toys and games and’30 gold chains to wear around my neck. Instantly the request was granted. "Anything more?” inquired the elf in a matter of fact way. “Ob, yes. As I said, I’m only begin­ ning," answered the prince quickly. “I want some spending money. Just let me have s couple of millioA dollars, please.” (The amount Is expressed In dollars for the et ’ightenment of American readers.) "Is that enough?” asked tho elf. "Well, now that 1 think about it, per­ haps I had better have a little more,” cor­ rected the prince. "Suppose yon multiply the snm by two. You know the multi­ pliestion table?” "Quite well,” said tke elf, calling off the sum. “Four million dollars.” "It might be a good Met to multiply again—this time by three,” suggested Prince Ginjan. "I’U soon be a young man, and 1 don’t want-to run short.” "No. That would be inconvenient,” agreed the elf# ‘Twelve million dollars. Are yon sure you won't need any more?" "Twelve billions would be better,” s m i l e d t h e prince. , •Twelve b l i lions it shall be,” said the elf# "What do you aiy to making it * trillion?” "All right; fe trillion.” “Walt! Hold M i” put in the princebreathless­ ly, “Since It "WHAT no YOUWAHT , ^ mt a„ th# toimatt.*?” multiply by 1,0001 Money is a good thing to have. Cali tt a round quadrillion at once, and I'H never ask yon for an­ other dollar.” “Very well.” aald the elf. “You wW want storehouses tor your money.” “Yes; of course,” said tbe prince, “and that reminds me that 1 want a lot of oth­ er things, i would like two summer palaces all to myseff and two winter palaces. I want two or three big depart­ ment stores sad severs) miles^squara aallea-of forest in which to hunt. Let me hate 10 parka ornamented with flow- era and 14 castles.” The elf nodded. "Well, anything snore?” he naked, "Yes,” aald the prince, reflecting. “I would like to own 0 big ships and lfi little yachts. By the why, those lakes f ou gave me will do ohty for smalt craft. mnat have a couple of ocean* to sail my ships on, and yon might threw in * THE PJUNCE IIAU NOBrother Felix and use fob liis money , i usc,i to enjoy fishing in the brook behind the gardener’s house! I was far hnppicr then before I met that miserable little elf that tricked me by 'giving me nil I asked for.” One day Prince Ginjan was.more lone­ ly and miserable than usual. He was fishing on one of tbe lakes, when all at once this thought chine to him: "What is the fun in fishing when there is no one to eat the fish or to care how many I catch? I wish I could give a string of them to ■omebody.” He turned the boat shore­ ward and stepped out just as the little elf came along. “Oh, is It yon?” ho said indifferently, wishing it might have been some one else. “How are you enjoying your world?” asked the hunchback, with nn odd smile. “I’m tired- and Biek of it,” answered Prince Ginjan dismally. “I haven't had a pleasant hour since I’ve been here,” “Dear me, that is strange! Do you want another ocean, or maybe an extra bil”- “No! not I,” interrupted the prince, “I’m poorer with what you have given me than I was before I saw you.” “Poorerl” ejaculated tho elf. "Ye*, poorerl” emphasized the prince With a kind of desperation. “Isn’t a per­ son poor when he can’t give anything away?” The elf looked thoughtful. "Well, yes,” he feit obliged to admit. “I, you really want to be kind,” said the prince, brightening, "take me back to my old home in the -tittle kingdom that my father rules,” “You couldn’t take your possessions with you,” explained tho elf. “There Isn't room tor them there." "I know that, and I don't want them," aald the prince. The elf now passed a magic wand three times over the prince's head. At the third movement the oceans, lakes and rivers dried up; the •hips, the parks# the stores, the castles, the pal­ aces and the heaps of money seemed to pass into the clouds, and Prince Gin­ jsn tonnd him­ self once more in the pslacj of his father. Those whohave Studied old An­ nals say that P r in c e Ginjsn now covered himself with glory by tusk# Ing s contribution to science iu the shape of the division table, which ftp to this time had not been invented. This Is, or course, only n myth nnJ tony have orig­ inated in the historic entertainment given o* a certain twenty-fifth day of Decem­ ber, i t which this prihtcdislributed quan­ tities of his treasures among the poor, By this act Prince Ginjan won tor him­ self the title of “The G cikmus ,” * dis­ tinction by which he wss known through- i ent his long and happy reign, "Oil, 1* ITYOU?” couplo of rivers. Mind, I want tbesa things all to myself,” "A pretty good order,” 'said the elf, "But you shall have everything that you' have asked for, oceans and all.” Now, since the objects enumerated py Prince Ginjan required space, territory, it'will be obvious that when tbe goods , were delivered, so to speak, tho prince awoke to the fact that he was all alone in a world of his own. Everything in tbe prince’s world was arranged most conveniently. His castles and palaces, all beautifully furnished, were stocked with imperishable provi­ sion's, He had but to ring a little silver bell, and the table would be set for him with a sumptuous feast; another bell, and the meal was cleared away. - His horses groomed themselves. His ships >werq managed by on easy apparatus tha* Wound like a clock,, He needed uo crew, no servants, no anything, being undis­ puted master of the whole world-—a sov­ ereign, in fact’,, with no one to disagree with him or say nay to any of his propo­ sitions. ' For awhile Prince Ginjan fancied that be enjoyed his vast possessions, but grad­ ually life grew a little monotonous eveii with a new pleasure for every day in the • year. If he had only some one to sharo his. enjoyments, some one to listen- while ho talked of his sea voyages, some one to look, over his parks and through his castles, some one even to say, “Ginjan, won’t yon lend me n couple of dollars?” The prince, however, had desired thnt - he might have his possessions all to him­ self, and this stipulation was rigidly car­ ried out bv tho elf.' . “I wonder it I didn’t make a great mis­ take," thought Prince Ginjan. “That forest is big enough for a hundred people to hunt in# How the pretty things In my stores would please Sister Melina! I wish*”mother was here, so that I might give her a diamond necklace, and grand­ mother would be pleased with a sot of nice warm furs.” .. . Since he dwned the whole world the prince had no use for his money, _At times the sight of the huge piles of coined gold and silver affected him like a prim joke. To amuse himself how and then he pretended that he did not-own every­ thing and would go through a little im­ aginary form of. buying from, an imag­ inary owner. Anything to get rid of some of his money. . . . . But these little weak make believes soon tired him, and he wished more than •ver fo r* real way to unburden himself, ^ But there was uo .one to accept a castle or a lake prJIOO.OOO. "Ah/’fheprtnce Would often sigh, "it is not auch a fine thing to own a world — and nothing else. My world separates me from the peo­ ple I like. I wish 1 was back In my father’s little kingdom. How , * .„£*.:*»•#** .Jfca ! ti i .jfaAj