A HAPPY CHRISTMAS.

Taranaki Daily News, 18 December 1929, Page 4 (Supplement)

A HAPPY CHRISTMAS.

A TRUE' STORY.

(’Ey

“Moturoa.")

It was the .'afternoon of Christmas Jive, and Mother was busy in the kitchen. Iho Christmas pudding had been made weeks before, and hung in its cloth to a rafter farthest from the range. The finishing touches had been made to the- Christmas cake', and tho stuffing of the tender goose was all that remained to be done. , . , But, somehow, it did not seem like Christmas. Everything was so dull; so quiet. Their only son had died but a few months previously, and perhaps (though it was hard to say) it was better so. He had been a bright boy.; the apple of the old couple’s eyes; but he was easily led, and had got into one scrape after another, bringing disgrace on his parents, and taking the whole of their 4^ iru ' ings to cover up his wrong-doings. The stock v had been sold and the farmlet mortgaged, and both Mother and the Old Man were bowed down under the- blow. The Old Man had always been interested in racehorses. On the farm he had an old thoroughbred mare, and several of her sons and daughters had faced, with moderate success. True, they had liaade nothing out of racing, but they were both “sports’ at heart, •and' had gained' m'uch pleasure out of it all. Then the boy went wrong, and things slipped back. The Old Man was forced, to relinquish his beloved breeding and mild racing, and had had to dispose of the mare, as well as her foal and yearling. And then to make matters worse the Old. Man. had to give up his racing associates, and through lack of funds could not attend even, nearby race meetings. That seemed to be the last straw. But the sporting instinct is unquenchable, and the Old Man'still studied the racing news, and dreamed of what he would have done—if he could have afforded it. Studying performances and pedigrees, he wagered fivers and tenners (in his imagination). One day , he would be thankful that his bets had not been real. Another day he was thrown into despair through counting winnings which might have been. And so things went on. It was in the spring of 1906 that the Old Man had heard of Mr. Shore’s, "dayk,., horse” for the New Zealand Cup, and night and day he talked of little else but Star Rose. He had saved a few pounds to put on the big bay horse on the day, but the boy had died, and the savings had been eaten up in consequent expenses. . Cup Day arrived and there were only two pounds in the house •between the old couple , and starvation. Mother was sport enough to urge him to invest the two pounds, but the Old Man shook his head sadly and declined to risk their all. Star Rose won, paying over f5O, . and the Old Man simply curled up and took defeat ,as tho climax to a run of “outs.” A-ftcf that ho never glanced at the sporting page. ', jle was done with ..racing/ . And, to-day, Christmas Eve, he had gone to town early. “On urgent business,” he had said. He had returned early and strictly sober. Not that he had ever been a drinking man, but on previous occasions on which he had visited the town on Christmas Eve he had (returned in high spirits, often reflecting the meetings with convivial friends; rather more than “merry.” .' Mother quite realised that men were entitled to a fling sometimes, especially at Christmas. But to-day the Old Man was different. Sitting, on the wood pile, he .was etrangely silent, absorbed in thoughts that could hardly have been in keeping, with the festive season. Later on he ate his evening meal in silence, brooding/-' Perhaps he was thinking of Christmas without the boy. That was Mother’s uppermost thought. And perhaps his changed financial position was getting him down. Tea concluded, the' Old Man cleared his throat huskily. Mother looked up from the •kitchen sink expectantly, apprehensive. “To-morrow the bailiff comes/in,” he said at length. Mother turned her head away, and for a moment was busy with the teatowel, wiping something from her eyes. “On Christmas Day!” she faltered at last, "Yes, on Christmas Day,” he said, bitterly, "a happy Christmas, isn’t it?” “But won’t they wait—?”..began Mother. ,“No; • they won’t,' Not a day; not an hour;” and then, hurriedly, “I went into town this morning to see if I could raise the money, -but- they turned me down. A man without money is a man without 1 friends.” Mother was busy with the dishes —and her eyes. “I had to find a hundred pounds by tonight,” -the Old Man continued, “and everybody said that they were sorry, b.ut times were hard —and all the rest of it.”

“■Well, let the- bailiff come,” said Mother, turning'briskly, "what do we care for him?” “But you don’t understand,” he replied, softly, “where could we get a hundred pounds from? We haven’t a pound in the world.” “Haven’t we?” said Mother, putting the last plate away, and going into the bedroom. In a few minutes she returned with.a packet of papers which contained her marriage certificate, the boy’s birth certificate, some wisps of childish hair, and other things which women love to cherish. Unrolling the papers she drew forth a bundle of notes, which she placed on the table before her astonished husband. "There,” she said, “pay the bailiff. There’s his hundred pounds!” , “Where did you get all that money from, dear?” said the Old Mari; “I know that'you got it honestly, but where did it come f.r'dm?” “I’ll let you into a little secret,” implied Mother smiling through her tears.;'; You know that horse ¥ you would not" pilts the money on in the Cup? Well, dear, I was just as convinced that it would win aS you were, so I slipped into town that day —and I put the two pounds on Star' Rose —bless him!”

“Thank God,” said the. Gid Man, rising and taking his wife in his arms, "this will indeed be a happy Christmas!”