A LOST FEBRUARY 



Claus, are n't you ? I know you are, and I *m f(oiii^' 

 to tell you what I want. I want a cradle for my dolly 

 and a new hat and a Httle gold watch," — all this 

 said very slowly and solemnly, and with a sort of 

 hushed, awed air, closely watching my face the while. 

 I saw the child was in dead earnest, so I told her I 

 was not Santa Claus. " Yes, you are, I know you 

 are," she replied. " Will you bring me these things ? 

 I should like them now. Is your pack here ? " I 

 could not shake her off, and finally had to tell her 

 that my pack was on the steamer, and that I would 

 see her in the morning if it contained the things 

 she wanted. Poor child! her faith in Santa Claus, 

 and her belief that she had at last caught him, was 

 pathetic. 



The next morning we took the train to Kingston, 

 going second class as we should have done in Eng- 

 land. A colored conductor, colored brakemen, and 

 colored station agents were novelties to us. 



Here is a glimpse of a winter day, February o, 

 in Kingston : " I am sitting on a veranda, shut of! 

 from the street by a high brick wall pierced by a 

 tall gate, and flanked by a parched flower garden 

 where a few roses only are in bloom. No rain to 

 speak of since last fall. An atmosphere like that 

 of our August. Mercury 82°; soft, familiar clouds 

 slowly drifting over a blue midsunnner sky. Tur- 

 key buzzards sailing, forever sailing, far and near ; 

 their shadows sweep across the low roofs of the 



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