1564 
■Uhe  RURAL.  NEW-YORKER 
HOPE  FARM  NOTES 
Pete  Shivershee’s  Miracle 
It  was  shortly  before  Christmas  When 
you  live  in  the  country  and  Christmas 
comes  with  snow  and  snappy  tcokl  there 
is  a  glow  in  the  air  and  soft,  mysterious 
sounds  which  seem  like  voices  come  out 
of  the  woods  and  lonely  hills.  It  is  the 
bright,  happy  time  of  the  year  when  so 
many  lives  are  touched  as  by  a  miracle. 
Perhaps  the  .children  heard  the  voices  and 
felt  the  glow,  for  they  sat  before  the  fire 
gazing  into  the  blaze — silent  a  long  time 
for  children.  Finally  one  of  them  looked 
up  and  asked  suddenly : 
“Do  you  believe  in  miracles?’' 
It  took  me  a  little  by  surprise,  but  I 
answered  quickly.  “Yes,  I  do!” 
“Did  you  ever  see  one?” 
“lres ;  some  folks  might  not  call  it  a 
miracle,  but  I  do.” 
“How  can  you  prove  it?” 
“By  Black  Jack — and  he  ought  to 
know !” 
A  Mean  Errand. — It  was  years  ago 
— the  night  before  Christmas.  I  was 
working  in  a  lumber  camp  far  up  in 
Northern  Michigan — 12  miles  from  the 
little  town  near  (lie  lake.  It  was  a  hard, 
rough,  cold  life,  but  I  enjoyed  it  because 
I  felt  that  every  50  chips  I  cut  out  of  a 
log  would  give  me  one  more  day  at  col¬ 
lege  when  the  Spring  term  opened.  You 
never  saw  the  crowd  of  lumberjacks  who 
fill  up  such  camps,  and  it  is  just  as  well, 
for  yon.  These  tough,  desperate  men  had 
been  shut  in  the  woods  for  weeks,  and  as 
Christmas  came  they  craved  excitement. 
No  pink  lemonade  for  them,  hut  raw 
whiskey,  hot  and  strong — no  gentle  spirit, 
hut  that  which  drives  a  man  to  madness. 
The  strictest  rule  in  a  lumber  camp  is 
that  against  bringing  in  liquor.  A  fore¬ 
man  and  two  or  three  assistants  can 
handle  50  sober  men  so  long  as  they  keep 
them  full  of  food  and  give  them  a  warm 
place  to  sleep.  It  would  require  a  regi¬ 
ment  of  soldiers  to  handle  the  gang  with 
a  jug  of  whiskey  on  hand.  Every  white 
man  in  that  camp  knew  that  whoever 
brought  whiskey  in  might  just  as  well 
leave  the  country  nr  the  world ;  but 
Black  Jack  had  found  a  messenger. 
A  Sorry  Santa  Ci.ax  s. — It  was  the 
Indian  hanger-on — Pole  Shivetshee — a 
poor,  disreputable  creature — a  human 
outcast  who  lived  at  the  hack  door  of  the 
cook’s  shanty,  and  slunk  about  in  the 
shadows  like  an  animal.  Black  Jack  had 
him  in  the  woods  by  the  side  of  the  road 
giving  him  final  instructions.  “You  play 
Santa  Claus,  Pete.  Take  this  jug  and 
money.  Run  to  town  and  buy  whiskey  at 
Nolan’s  saloon.  Then  come  back  and 
hide  the  jug  in  the  hollow  tree  about  day¬ 
break.  Now  git  out,  you  Injun.  If  you 
stop  on  the  road  or  get  drunk.  I’ll  skin  ye 
alive !” 
Pete  knew  his  business.  Tt  was  no 
new  trip  for  him.  He  nodded  his  head, 
put  the  money  in  his  pocket,  took  up  the 
jug  and  started  on  his  quick,  short 
shuffle  down  the  snowy  road. 
“Ain’t  ye  ’fra id  he'll  run  off  with  it?” 
asked  one  of  the  other  men. 
“That  Injun  will  buy  the  whiskey.” 
said  Black  Jack  sagely.  “Nothin’  but  a 
miracle  can  ever  stop  him  !  Nothin’  but 
a  miracle — an’  they  don't  make  them 
things  up  in  this  Cod-forsalcen  country!” 
Trouble. — Pete  Shivershee  shuffled 
along  under  the  stars  until  a  turn  in  the 
road  brought  him  to  the  Widow  Gainer’s 
house.  It  was  a  poor  little  place,  but  a 
light  shone  from  the  window,  and  Pete 
suddenly  remembered  that  Mrs.  Gainer 
was  the  only  human  who  ever  alluded  to 
him  as  Mr.  Shivershee.  So  he  left  the 
jug  by  a  stump  and  pushed  the  door  open. 
Mrs.  Gainer  was  putting  supper  on  the 
table.  There  was  a  dish  of  potatoes, 
some  fried  pork  and  a  loaf  of  bread,  but 
to  hungry  Pete  it  was  like  a  five-course 
dinner,  and  he  fell  to  like  a  wolf.  Sud¬ 
denly  lie  stopped  eating,  for  he  heard 
children  crying.  In  the  other  room  the 
three  little  Gainers  were  sobbing  as 
though  their  little  hearts  would  break. 
“What  matter  kids?”  asked  Pete. 
Then  Mrs.  Gainer  bad  to  put  her  apron 
to  her  eyes,  which,  being  a  Frenchwoman, 
she  did  not  like  to  do. 
“Ah  !  Meestcr  Shivershee,  the  children 
cry  because  they  think  Santa  Claus  no 
longer  loves  them  in  this  lonely  place. 
They  bring  the  tree — see,”  and  she 
pointed  to  a  corner  where  a  cedar  tree 
was  standing. 
“I  raise  flowers  in  the  boxes  and  they 
are  blooming  for  Christmas,  but  the  frost 
he  walk  in  and  kill  them  dead  and  iny 
children  cry,  for  they  say  the  good  God 
forgets  them,  though  they  pray  for  a  doll 
and  many  things.  We  cannot  buy  them, 
and  when  the  flowers  die  the  children 
say  Santa  Claus  forgets  them  far  up  here 
in  the  snow.” 
“Who  Santy  Claws?” 
“Ah !  The  fine  old  man  who  loves 
children  and  brings  them  the  little  gifts 
of  love  at  Christmas !” 
“What  Cris’mus?”  Pete  was  after  in¬ 
formation. 
“It  is  the  day  of  the  good  Lord,  Meestcr 
Shivershee — the  day  when  our  Saviour  he 
was  born  and  all  people  should  be  glad  !” 
Pete  studied  a  while,  but  could  not 
quite  grasp  it.  “Bad  for  kids !”  was  all 
the.  sympathy  language  could  give  him 
and  he  finally  slouched  out  of  the  house, 
took  his  jug  and  shuffled  ou  under  the 
brilliant  stars  for  town. 
The  Miracle  Becins. — Black  Jack 
said  truly  that  nothing  but  a  miracle 
could  take  Pete  from  his  job.  lie 
shuffled  ou  mile  after  mile  until  the 
lights  of  the  little  town  came  in  view.  It. 
was  a  poor  little  place — the  homo  of  pov¬ 
erty  and  pinching  economy.  As  Pete 
came  down  the  main  street  there  was  a 
man  scolding  his  wife  for  extravagance ! 
She  kept  a  little  store,  and  in  laying  in 
a  stock  of  Christmas  goods  some  drummer 
bad  induced  her  to  buy  a  package  of  arti¬ 
ficial  flowers.  Here  it.  was  late  Christ¬ 
mas  Eve,  and  the  flowers  unsold,  and  the 
woman’s  husband  was  grumbling  in  any¬ 
thing  but,  Santa  Claus  style  when  Pete 
Shivershee  shuffled  by.  He  heard  the 
man’s  voice  and  turned  so  that  his  eye  fell 
on  those  flowers  They  were  quite  un¬ 
like  anything  that  ever  grew  ou  a  plant, 
but  in  some  way  they  brought  to  Pete’s 
dull  mind  the  thought  of  those  sobbing 
little  children  in  the  lonely  woods.  He 
stopped  short  as  the  man  raised  his  hand 
with  the  flowers  in  it.  As  iron  is  pulled 
on  by  a  magnet  Pete  went  in. 
"I  buy  flowers.”  he  said. 
lie  bad  no  thought,  of  spending  more 
than  10  cents  of  his  money,  but  who  does 
not  know  the  history  of  the  white  man’s 
dealing  with  his  red  brother? 
“How  much  ye  gut,  Injun?” 
Pete  pulled  tint  the  .$4  Black  Jack  had 
given  him  and  the  white  man  saw  the 
chance  of  a  lifetime  to  work  off  dead 
stock.  He  wrapped  up  a  great  bunch  of 
those  impossible  posies  and  handed  it  to 
Pete  with  50  cents  in  change. 
“Now  move  on.  Injun — the  store’s 
closed !” 
Pete  found  himself  outside  with  his 
flowers,  50  cents  and  the  empty  jug. 
When  miracles  strike  a  man  they  seem 
to  daze  him,  for  Pete,  more  through  habit 
than  anything  else,  went  on  to  Nolan’s 
saloon  and  had  them  pour  50  cents’ 
worth  of  whiskey  into  his  jug;  then  In* 
went  outside  to  the  town  pump  and  filled 
the  jug  with  water. 
The  Christmas  Tree. — Pete  took  one 
long  drink  from  the  jug,  but  it  was  not 
satisfying.  He  rested  a  while  and  then 
started  back  to  camp,  the  jug  in  one  hand 
and  the  flowers  in  the  other.  On  the 
outskirts  of  the  town  he  came  to  a  build¬ 
ing  quite  alive  with  light.  Some  one  was 
playing  on  a  small  organ,  and  the  com¬ 
pany  were  singing.  In  front  of  the  door 
stood  an  Indian  whom  Pete  knew. 
“How  Pete?  Where  go?  What  do 
with  flowers?” 
'Phis  man  enjoyed  the  proud  distinc¬ 
tion  of  being  janitor  of  the  Methodist 
Church.  There  was  a  Christinas  tree  in¬ 
side;  one  of  those  remarkable  roses  had 
poked  its  head  out  of  Pete’s  package.  I 
do  not  know  how  these  two  silent,  men 
made  themselves  understood.  Perhaps 
they  have  some  silent  language  like  cat¬ 
tle  or  horses  at  pasture.  At  any  rate 
John  finally  understood  and  he  took  his 
friend  by  the  arm. 
“Leave  jug  here — come  on  in  !” 
Before  Pete  fairly  knew  it.  he  was  in¬ 
side  facing  the  Christinas  tree — the  peo¬ 
ple  standing  with  heads  bowed  and  an 
old  white-haired  man  talking  to  himself— 
so  it  seemed  to  Pete.  The  old  man  in  his 
shabby  black  coat  and  his  long  white 
hair  was  saying: 
“Oh,  send  to-night  as  our  guest,  thy 
presence  that  we  may  greet  it  with  love 
and  sympathy  and  j„y  !” 
Then  they  all  raised  their  heads  and 
opened  their  eyes — and  there  was  the 
guest  whom  God  had  sent — Pete  Shiv- 
ershee !  I  wonder  what  they  would  do 
at  your  church  if  such  a  disreputable 
character  came  through  the  door  right  at 
such  a  time? 
In  some  way  John  made  the  old  min¬ 
ister  understand  and  he  stood  up  1  eforft 
them,  for  all  the  world  like  an  earthly 
angel  with  a  shabby  black  suit  for  a 
robe.  He  told  of  those  litth*  children 
out  iii  the  woods;  of  the  great  faith  of 
childhood,  and  how  they  should  not  let 
“the  Lord's  messenger  go  away  empty 
handed!  Out  of  our  abundance,  there¬ 
fore,  let  us  give  that  we  may  have 
more !” 
Out  of  their  abundance!  Think  of  it! 
Those  poor  people;  it  was  rather  out  of 
their  poverty  and  trouble  that  the  gift 
must  come,  and  who  does  not  know  that 
such  gifts  are  best? 
The  first  one  to  styrt  was  a  little 
woman  dressed  in  black.  She  went  to 
the  tree  and  took  off  a  doll  and  a  few 
little  trinkets  and  silently  laid  them  in 
Pete's  hand!  Tt  was  the  noblest  gift  of 
love,  for  her  little  girl  had  died  only  a 
few  weeks  before.  They  had  hung  these 
little  gifts  on  the  tree  so  that  the  mother 
might  ever  keep  them  in  memory  of  her 
child.  Then  came  a  woman  who  for 
years  had  longed  for  children  and  been 
denied.  They  all  came  silently  and  a 
little  tearfully,  sharing  their  gifts  with 
the  astonished  Pete.  They  filled  a  basket 
and  put  what  was  rift  in  a  bag.  I  can- 
Deeember  23,  1916. 
not  begin  to  tell  you  what  there  was. 
There  were  dolls,  toys,  a  few  little 
books,  cakes,  candy  and  even  three  poor 
oranges — from  the  land  beyond  the  frost 
and  snow.  There  were  even  little 
candles  for  the  tree. 
And  they  bundled  Pete  off  with  Merry 
Christmas  and  good  wishes.  John  fast¬ 
ened  the  bag  on  Pete’s  back  and  with  the 
jug  in  one  hand  and  the  basket  in  the 
other  he  Shuffled  off  into  the  woods — not 
alone  Pete  Shivershee  but  “a  messenger 
of  the  Lord.” 
Christmas. — Pete  went  on  under  the 
bines.  The  wind  had  arisen  and  a  thou¬ 
sand  harps  were  singing  as  the  pine  trees 
responded  to  the  breeze.  In  all  ages 
men  and  women  and  children  have  list¬ 
ened  to  that  music  and  have  interpreted 
it  according  to  their  mood — into  fear,  joy, 
despair  or  glory.  As  Pete  went  on  under 
the  spell  of  the  miracle  which  had  touched 
him  I  think  that  somehow  he  heard  in 
that  wild  music  the  same  song  which  the 
shepherds  heard  years  and  years  ago: 
"Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  on  earth 
peace,  yood  will  to  man!" 
1  he  first  faint  touch  of  dawn  was 
showing  in  the  east  when  Pete  reached  the 
Gainer  cabin.  He  left  liis  jug  in  the 
woods  and  went  to  the  door.  Mrs.  Gainer 
was  up,  and  Pete  just  pushed  the  bag  and 
basket  in. 
"Santy  Claws.  Kids  stop  crying  now  !” 
Then  he  slunk  off  into  the  woods.  A 
short  distance  down  the  road  he  stopped, 
thought  a  moment  and  then  crept  back  to 
the  cabin  and  looked  through  the  win¬ 
dow.  Mrs.  Gainer  was  <n  her  knees  with 
h**r  head  down  in  her  hands  on  a  chair. 
Then  she  got  up  with  the  same  look  ou 
her  face  that  Pete  had  noticed  on  the 
face  of  the  little  woman  in  black. 
Mrs.  Gainer  unpacked  the  bag  and  bas¬ 
ket  and  had  most  of  the  presents  on  the 
tree  when  there  was  a  shout  from  the 
"tiler  room  and  the  little  Gainer  children 
came  tumbling  out.  Those  children  will 
tell  you  that  they  are  sure  they  saw  a 
face  at  the  window  as  they  danced  be¬ 
fore  their  tree. 
“I  think  it  was  Santa  Claus,”  said  the 
smallest,  one. 
“No.  I  think  it  was  an  angel  of  the 
Lord,”  said  No.  2. 
The  oldest  child  was  more  practical. 
“It  may  have  been,”  she  said,  “but  it 
looked  to  me  like  old  Pete  Shivershee  with 
a  new  face  on  him.” 
My  own  opinion  is  that  all  three  were 
right.  It  was  Santa  Claus,  an  angel  of 
the  Lord  and  old  Pete  Shivershee  all  in 
one.  through  one  of  the  great  miracles 
which  wo  may  all  help  to  work  out. 
Black  Jack  found  the  jug  in  the  hollow 
tree.  He  took  one  drink  and  threw  the 
rest  away  in  disgust. 
“Can  I  get  drunk  on  dishwater?”  lie 
asked. 
“I  told  you  so !”  said  the  other  man. 
“No,”  said  Black  Jack  stubbornly. 
“Nothin’  but  a  miracle  could  a  stopped 
that  Injun.  It  was  a  miracle  done  it, 
though  I  don't  see  how  any  such  thing 
got  in  here.” 
I  agree  fully  with  Black  Jack.  It  was 
a  miracle,  and  I  think  I  know  how  it  got 
there.  h.  w.  c. 
A  Five-Generation  Family 
It  is  remaikalde  how  many  homes  into 
which  The  ItrRAT,  New-Yorker  goes  reg¬ 
ularly  can  show  a  group  somewhat  like 
the  picture  on  this  page.  Three  and  four 
generations  are  quite  common.  This 
one,  however,  covers  live  generations, 
from  the  old  veteran  to  the  last  baby. 
Mr.  Frederick  Floiight  served  all  through 
the  Civil  War,  and  was  a  Grand  Army 
man,  as  we  may_  see  from  the  badge  on 
bis  coat.  The  picture  shows  a  long  list 
of  bis  descendants,  his  daughter  and 
grand-daughter,  who  is  also  a  grand¬ 
mother.  Mr.  Floiight  was  a  successful 
farmer,  and  the  last  years  of  his  life  are 
passed  oil  the  farm  with  his  descendants. 
There  are  still  many  of  these  line  old 
men  left,  and  it  is  a  beautiful  sight  when, 
as  in  this  case,  they  may  have  their  eliil- 
ren  and  descendants  around  them,  and 
live  on  feeling  that  the  last  years  are 
after  all  the  best  of  their  life.  We  have 
frequently  said  that  the  final  test,  of 
character  for  men  and  women  will  he 
found  in  the  way  they  treat  the  old  peo¬ 
ple  in  their  family,  and  it  is  a  great  pleas¬ 
ure  to  learn  that  in  so  many  of  the  homes 
entered  by  TtiE  R.  N.-Y.  these  fine  old 
people  are  appreciated  and  respected  so 
that  their  hist  years  of  life  are  made 
what  they  should  he.  Very  likely  there 
are  other  family  groups  in  which  the  fifth 
or  even  the  sixth  generation  can  be 
shown,  and  we  are  always  glad  to  learn 
about  them. 
A  Farm  Family  of  Five  Generations 
