Christmas in the Old Log Cabin. 



It is a cold, dreary winter evening. Storm clouds are scud- 

 ding down from the northwest, shutting out the last rays of 

 declining light, as the white-robed winter-night closes in on 

 the city. 



"The evening sky is dim with snow; 



The flakes falter, and fall slow; 

 Aslant the hill-top wrapt and pale, 



Silently drops the silver veil. 

 And all the valley is shut in 



By flickering curtains gray and thin." 



The walks are full of pedestrians hurrying homeward with 

 joyous faces and arms full of bundles, all intent on making 

 some loved one happy on the glad Christmas morning so near 

 at hand. 



Darkness settles down on the street. The bright sparkle 

 of electric lights here and there only serves to increase the gray 

 gloom beyond their circle of radiance. Turning away from the 

 window I poke the center-log near the fire's heart and allow 

 imagination to carry me back to another Christmas time in by- 

 gone days. Before me I see a winding road through the forest ; 

 beside the road, hidden among the trees, stands a comfortable 

 log cabin. Sitting around the big, open fireplace is gathered 

 a happy family circle telling stories, eating hickory nuts, and 

 popping corn. Father had been to town that day to do the 

 Christmas trading and is tired and sleepy after his long ride in 

 the cold winter wind. Leaning back his head in the old hick- 

 ory splint chair, his eyes closed and a smile crept over his face 

 as he dropped to sleep. 



The fire flamed and danced up the chimney. The old cat 

 arose from its corner by the fire, and, walking over to father, 

 rubbed against his leg and purred. Mother, who was busily 

 knitting, looked up to father and said : "Father, did you get all 

 the things we had on the order slip?" Father, starting up from 

 his doze, replied : "Yes, mother, and some things that were 



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