HOW KATIE DISCOVERED SANTA CLAUS.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume V, Issue 52, 27 December 1890, Page 18

HOW KATIE DISCOVERED SANTA CLAUS.

fOLKS wondered who that queer fellow was, living all alone in an empty whare quite away from the scattered dwellings of the . few people who lived in a small settlement near Taranaki. He had a long beard, thick whiskers and moustache, and big blue goggles, so that there was not much of his real face to be seen. He never spoke to anyone unless he was alrsolutely obliged. Now and then he went down to the store and bought food. He did not seem so poor, and they said he was a miser and hid money in his house. There were people who would have investigated that little matter —some folks are so curious, you know—but once, when Tim Trip and his brother went to the cabin at night, some one fired at him out of the window and some one mentioned that anyone who came to that door at unseemly hours without a better excuse than Tim offered would be apt to be carried home. Tim said he felt he ought to be neighbourly when he told the story, but nobody believed him. However, this adventure stopped al) efforts at sociability, and the hermit lived unmolested except by an excellent colporteur, who regularly laid tracts upon a stump hard by. which were regularly taken in : aud once meeting the hermit in the road, that mysterious person handed the good man a small package of money saying, ‘ For pious purposes.’ After this the colporteur always spoke

well of him. But what hail he done, or what had been done to him that he should live alone in that miserable place without any one to speak to Over Christmas dinners they sometimes talked of him. Had he murdered somebody, or defaulted, or robbed a bank, or was he crazy ? The kindlier folks put that interpretation on his conduct. Mrs Butterfield often said that she would carry him a plate of turkey and plum pudding on Christmas if she wasn’t afr aid of his gun' * But when a body is crazy they don’t know friends front enemies, poor things !’ Mrs Butterfield would continue. ‘ And my family is young and needs me ; I daren’t risk it.’

There was one other person who often thought about the hermit. This was little Katie Martin. She was only nine years old, but she thr tight a great deal. Her mother was a seamstress, and sometimes left her alone all day with no one but. the cat : and when she played and read until she was tired, she used to go to the window and look up the road where the

hermit lived, and shortly—having referred to her picture-books very often — she decided that he was no one but

Santa Claus himself — Santa Claus, Itetween holidays making his toys, tired as her mother' was when she had to work very hard, and not jolly and rosy as he was when all his work was done and he harnessed his reindeer to his sled and took it home. She mentioned her belief to her mother now and then, and the little woman only laughed. If it amused Katie to believe this why shouldn't she? There was so little to amuse Katie. Katie’s mother was a widow. Years before she had had a very romantic story. She had been married to a fine young fellow, one Captain Joseph Martin, ot the steamer Starlight, and she was very, very happy. But sailors can not stay at home, let them love their wives ever so well, and when little Katie was only a few weeks old the Starlight sailed away and never came to port again, for she was lost with all on Iroard of her. The poor little woman, who was not a capable woman, was cheated out of the insurance money which should have been hers, and soon s|»ent what little she had by her, and she thought it very kind of jolly Jack Barton to offer her* his hand ami heart, and swear to be a real father to Jo Martin’s little girl. She married him, ami went to Sydney with him. But Jack Barton, though jolly and good-hearted, was a hard drinker, and in bis cups he got into a quarrel with a Sydney sailor and was stabl>ed to the heart. Other sailors clubbed together and sent Jack Barton's widow home. But when she reached her mother’s house she found that she was dead. The letter bearing the news was on its way to Sydney. Again the little wontan was a widow and obliged to earn her Ik rd. She could not do much but look pretty. The needle was her only ho|>e. In that small village they paid a sew ing- woman half a crown a day, ami thought themselves generous. So the little tworoomed house, the handful of fire, and what was needed to keep a little woman ami a little girl alive were hard to get, and life was a very poor thing to work

so hard for. Still, every Christmas Mrs Barton managed to put something in Katie’s stocking, and to roast a chicken.

On this one, which came nearly on Katie’s tenth birthday, for she was born in Christmas, week, it did not seem likely that she would have either the gifts or the chicken, for she had had very bail luck. She had had a bad cold and taken her cough medicine with her to MrsBrittles, and had broken the bottle over Miss Mary Jane’s blue silk and spoiled two breadths and the silk was worth five shillings a yard, and most of her work went to pay for that. Then she was really quite ill, and had to lie in bed a day or two, and now she was working for Mrs Pincher for two shillings a day, not to be paid till after the holidays. To be sure, Mrs Pincher sent her home in the cart.

‘I do not know why ever I was born !’ the poor, sad soul said to Katie. She generally kept her troubles from Katie ; but she had no one else to speak to, and her heart was full. ‘I work so hard—l work so faithfully—and Christmas-time is coming, and I shall feel thankful if we have bread and butter to eat. Oh '. what would your father say if he knew what we endured ?’

*My father ?’ said Katie. ‘ Don’t they know in heaven ?’ * I hope not,’ said poor Mrs Barton, disconsolately. ‘ I shouldn’t care if your step-fatber knew, for really it was his fault that he got himself murdered, and he drank so awfully that I can t respect his memory -, but yourown dear father, he was so good and so fond of me ! I never ought to have married anybody else ; I never loved anybody else—only it is so hard to be alone in the world. Your father I wouldn’t have know. He is in heaven lam sure, and I’d like todie and go there, too. I guess he’d forgive me. Captain Barton was well meaning when he was sober—which was not often—but your own dear father—Captain Martin—was’a Christian gentleman and a splendid fellow altogether. Kate, you must never forget him.’ ‘ Oh, I never will, mother !’ said Katie, beginning to cry. ‘ There, I’ve made you wretched too,’ said Mrs Martin, tying on her hood ; * and I must goand sew for that old skinflint. If she has anything nice for dinner—l doubt she ever has I’ll put some in my pocket for you. You’ll have to eat the cold toast, but there is some milk.’ Then she kissed the child and went away sobbing. Katie sat by the window and looked out. Then she thought of the hermit. It was very hot for it was Christmas Eve, but Katie determined she would go and see him. 3 *' * He certainly is Santa Claus !’ she said ; ‘ and if he knew, he would put something in mother’sstocking, if she is a big woman and not a little girl. I mean to go and ask him. He won’t let those rough men in, because they’d bother him. But I won’t bother him a bit; I’ll be as good as pie '.’ Then she slipped on her hat, and made her way to the hermit’s whare, and stood, rather frightened, before the door. It was closed now, and when she knocked upon it with a little stick she had picked up, he shouted : ‘ Sheer off, there ! No admittance !’

‘ it’s not one of those horrid big men ; it’s only little me. I never-

But Kate knocked again ‘ If you please,’ she said, break anything.’ Then lie opened the door. ‘ Who are you ?’ said he. • If you please,’ said Katie, ‘ I’m little Katie Martin, and I have come to pay a call.’ ‘ Katie Martin ?’ he said, and put his hand to his head. ‘ Martin is a common nanie enough ” he said ; ‘ there are plenty of Martins.’ ” ’ ‘ Are there, Mr Santa Claus ?’ said Katie, * I didn’t know.'

‘ Did you call me Santa Claus ? said the hermit. ‘Yes, sir,’said Katie. ‘No one else knows who you are. They call you a hermit; but a hermit has a cross, and a bald place on the top of his head—so I know. I sha’n’t tell the otherfolks, though, for you don’t want to be bothered when you are so busy making toys for Christmas ‘ Well, you’ve thought it all out, haven't you ?’ said the hemit. ‘ Yes, sir,’ said Katie. ‘ I mustn’t interrupt you, but Ido want to ask you so much to give a present to my mother. If you don’t, she will only have bread and butter for Christmas dinner for everythin" has gone wrong. I thought, being a neighbour, you wouldn’t mind if she was grown up. lon needn’t give me anything this time ; but if mother could have a chicken and a new clock I’d be so glad I’ ‘ Well, you did right to come to Santa Claus,’ said the man the other folk had mistaken for a hermit, sitting down and taking her on his knee. ‘Your mother shall have the chicken and money for a clock. Hang a basket on the door-handle Christmas Eve, and don’t tell your mother Where do you live, and what is your mother’s name —Mrs Martin? ‘ Over there in that tiny-winy‘house,’ said Katie, pointing out of the window, ‘ and her name is Barton—Mrs Barton. But Captain Barton is dead, so she is a widow. He was nice but not so good as my poor papa, who was drowned at sea befoie I could talk. My papa was Captain Joseph Martin, and he sailed away in a ship called the Starlight, and it never came back any more ; but my step father came afterthat, and stayed until he got killed. But if he hadn’t drunk so much whisky it wouldn’t have happened.’ ‘ Bless me t cried the hermit, puttinghis hand to his head again. ‘ I believe Christmas time is coming to me foronce. What’s your mother’s first name?’ ‘ Nellie,’ said Katie. ‘ Santa Claus will be at your house - never fear,’ said the man. ‘ Kiss me, my little angel, kiss me ! Now, goodLord—my Lord—have mercy on me for all my sins !’ M ith this pious adjuration he put her out at the door and watched her down the road. He was Santa Claus, Katie felt sureof that, and it was hard to keep it from her mother ; still she had promised. Her mother came home that evening,, sad and weary. She did not guessthat Santa Claus would bring her a clock and a turkey, Katie thought ; indeed she was crying a little when a knock came at the door, and when she opened it there stood the man otherpeople called the hermit, and whom she knew- to be Santa Claus. ‘ I have come to see your mother,’' he said, and Katie called out gleefully ~ ‘ Mother, here is Santa Claus !’ The widow arose, blushing. * I—l think it is the gentleman near the bush,’ she said. ‘ Excuse my littlegirl, she has very odd ideas, Mr—’ .* Yes,’ said the caller, not giving her his name. ‘ I don’t often visit any one but, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll come in. I have seen your little girl before, and I want to tell her a story. Children like stories. Sit down again, marm—MrsBarton, I believe ? ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘ And a widow ?' he asked. ‘ A widow,’ she answered. Then she sat down. She was a littleafraid of the big beard and the goggles, but her caller seemed to have no evil, intentions. On the contrary, he sat down a little behind her a« she resumed her chair, took Katie on his knee, and said : ‘ Now for the story. Santa Clauscan tell first-rate stories. He writes all the verses in the picture-books. Sol’ll begin : ‘ Once there was a lad—‘ * Yes,’ said Katie. * He was a grown lad,’ said the visitor

—‘at least when I knew him—and he was in love with a girl whose name was Nellie. His name was Jo. Well, there was another fellow named Jack wanted Nellie, but this Jo got her. They were married, and as happy as two birds in -a nest.’"

‘ Mother is interested, too,’ said Katie. ‘Yes,’ said the man; ‘I thought she’d be. Well, this chap Jo was a sailor, and one day he had to sail away and leave his. wife and a girl baby they had, but he hoped to •come back and be happy again. But a great storm came up and wrecked the ship, and he floated in a boat for days, and at last was cast, with fonr others, on some land. It was land the savages owned—negroes. They seized the whites and made slaves of them. There was no chance of getting away for a long while—for years—but this chap Jo was always on the lookout for one. So at last he hit a great black fellow on the head and got away, through swamps and over deserts, to a camp of white folks, on an expedition of some sort. They took him home ; but when he got there, and to the town where he had left his wife and baby, he found that that other fellow, Jack, thinking he was dead, had married her and carried her off. Well, he was about crazy for awhile. Then he made up his mind that he would never trouble his poor girl, who meant no harm. But he was sick of the world, and he—he—’

‘ How interested mother is !’ said Katie. ‘ Oh, do go on !’ But the story-teller had stopped, and her mother had flown to him, holding out her arms. * I know the rest,’ she said. ‘He gave up the world ;he disguised himself ; he lived miserably, and they called him a hermit. Oh, you are my husband, Joseph Martin ! Oh, Jo, Jo ! forgive me ! I always loved you best!’ ‘ There is nothing to forgive, my girl,’ said the hermit, ‘ and, please God, we’ll go to church next Sunday and be married overagain. I’mnotapoorman. I picked up gold and diamonds enough among the negroes to make us rich for life. But, fool that I was ! I lived over yonder like a blind mole with my eyes shut, and never guessed you were my Nellie, and this my little Katie. And but for the blessed child that thought me Santa Claus, so we might have lived and died, I thinking you happy with Jack Barton away in Sydney. ’ ‘lt isn’t Santa Claus,’ cried Katie. ‘ But—but—oh, it is my own dear father come back again. And we shall be happy always and for ever.’ And certainly they were happy that Christmas day, when ■Captain Jo Martin, clothed like other folks, and handsome as a picture, married his own wife over again in the little -church, and afterwaids told his strange story to his friends over his Christmas dinner.