Part 36 (1/2)

”Am dat so?” (counting), ”firty-free, firty-foah, firty-five, firty-six, firty-seben, firty-eight, firty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two, forty-free. Hit am so singular dat you has sich old childruns. I can't b'leeve you has granchildruns. You don't look more den forty yeahs ole yerseff.”

”Nonsense, old man, I see you want to flatter me. When a person gets to be fifty-three years old----”

”Fifty-free? I jess dun gwinter beleeve hit, fifty-free, fifty-foah, fifty-five, fifty-six--I want you to pay tenshun when I counts de eggs, so dar'll be no mistake--fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-tree, sixty-foah--Whew. Dat am a warm day. Dis am de time ob yeah when I feels I'se gettin' old myself. I ain't long fer dis world. You comes from an old family. When your fodder died he was sebenty years ole.”

”Seventy-two.”

”Dat's old, suah. Sebenty-two, sebenty-free, sebenty-foah, sebenty-five, sebenty-six, sebenty-seben, sebenty-eight, sebenty-nine--and your mudder?

She was one ob the n.o.blest looking ladies I ebber see. You reminds me ob her so much. She libbed to mos' a hundred. I bleeves she was done pa.s.s a centurion when she died.”

”No, Uncle Mose, she was only ninety-six when she died.”

”Den she warn't no chicken when she died. I know dat--ninety-six, ninety-seben, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred, one, two, free, foah, five, six, seben, eight--dar 108 nice fresh eggs--jess nine dozen, and here am one moah egg in case I has discounted myself.”

Old Mose went on his way rejoicing. A few days afterward Mrs. Burton said to her husband:

”I am afraid we will have to discharge Matilda. I am satisfied she steals the milk and eggs. I am positive about the eggs, for I bought them day before yesterday, and now about half of them are gone. I stood right there and heard Old Mose count them myself and there were nine dozen.”

ANNIE AND WILLIE'S PRAYER.

BY MRS. SOPHIA P. SNOW.

'Twas the eve before Christmas, ”Good-night” had been said, And Annie and Willie had crept into bed; There were tears on their pillows, and tears in their eyes, And each little bosom was heaving with sighs, For to-night their stern father's command had been given That they should retire precisely at seven Instead of at eight--for they troubled him more With questions unheard of than ever before: He had told them he thought this delusion a sin, No such a creature as ”Santa Claus” ever had been.

And he hoped, after this, he should never more hear How he scrambled down chimneys with presents each year.

And this was the reason that two little heads So restlessly tossed on their soft, downy beds.

Eight, nine, and the clock on the steeple tolled ten, Not a word had been spoken by either till then, When Willie's sad face from the blanket did peep, And whispered, ”Dear Annie, is 'ou fast as'eep?”

”Why no, brother Willie,” a sweet voice replies, ”I've long tried in vain, but I can't shut my eyes, For somehow it makes me so sorry because Dear papa has said there is no 'Santa Claus,'

Now we know there is, and it can't be denied, For he came every year before mamma died; But, then, I've been thinking that she used to pray, And G.o.d would hear everything mamma would say, And maybe she asked him to send Santa Claus here With the sack full of presents he brought every year.”

”Well, why tan't we p'ay dest as mamma did den, And ask Dod to send him with p'esents aden?”

”I've been thinking so too,” and without a word more Four little bare feet bounded out on the floor, And four little knees the carpet pressed, And two tiny hands were clasped close to each breast.

”Now Willie, you know we must firmly believe That the presents we asked for we're sure to receive; You must wait very still till I say the 'Amen,'

And by that you will know that your turn has come then.”

”Dear Jesus, look down on my brother and me, And grant us the favor we are asking of thee.

I want a wax dolly, a tea-set and ring, And an ebony work-box that shuts with a spring.

Bless papa, dear Jesus, and cause him to see That Santa Claus loves us as much as does he; Don't let him get fretful and angry again At dear brother Willie and Annie. Amen.”

”Please, Desus, 'et Santa Taus tum down to-night, And b'ing us some p'esents before it is light; I want he should div' me a nice 'ittie s'ed, With bright s.h.i.+nin' 'unners, and all painted red; A box full of tandy, a book, and a toy, Amen, and then Desus, I'll be a dood boy.”

Their prayers being ended, they raised up their heads, And with hearts light and cheerful, again sought their beds.

They were lost soon in slumber, both peaceful and deep, And with fairies in dreamland were roaming in sleep.

Eight, nine, and the little French clock had struck ten, Ere the father had thought of his children again: He seems now to hear Annie's half-suppressed sighs, And to see the big tears stand in Willie's blue eyes.

”I was harsh with my darlings,” he mentally said, ”And should not have sent them so early to bed; But then I was troubled; my feelings found vent, For bank stock to-day has gone down ten per cent But of course they've forgotten their troubles ere this, And that I denied them the thrice-asked-for kiss: But, just to make sure, I'll go up to their door, For I never spoke harsh to my darlings before.”

So saying, he softly ascended the stairs, And arrived at the door to hear both of their prayers; His Annie's ”Bless papa” drew forth the big tears, And Willie's grave promise fell sweet on his ears.

”Strange--strange--I'd forgotten,” said he with a sigh, ”How I longed when a child to have Christmas draw nigh.”

”I'll atone for my harshness,” he inwardly said, ”By answering their prayers ere I sleep in my bed.”