Village Squire, 1978-12, Page 27again I wondered what I had thought could be so tough about it.
In fact things went just about as Miss Helms had planned
except that when Bobby McGregor was getting off the stage
after doing his accordian solo he tripped on the edge of the bed
sheet that partitioned off the girls dressing room from the
audience, exposing some angels in the midst of adding their
angelic attire.
At the end of the concert Miss Helms looked almost back to
her 26 years again as she laughed and flushed and accepted
compliments on the show.
After what 1 had overheard the night before I wondered
v:hether there would be a present in the sack for me or not when
our shop worn Santa bounded in. But my name was the third one
called and 1 ran up to get my present. When I opened the
present though I was in for a bit of a shock. Inside was a deck of
cards with fancy pictures on it. It was a nice enough present, but
it was one I had already got. Last year my Aunt Emma had given
it to me but mother had put it away after Christmas day saying it
% as too old for me.
I tried not to let my feeling of disappointment show. All around
me others were opening their presents and chattering excitedly
to each other, even though the gifts were simple, inexpensive
things. 1 thought 1 was doing well until Bobby, my best friend
carne over to show me his present, a Hardy Boys book. I'd love to
have one myself. They were new and they were exciting.
"And what did you get?" Bobby asked.
"Oh nothing really important." 1 tried to slip the cards out of
sight. He reached behind me and grabbed them.
"Oh those are nice. I wish 1 had some like it."
"Yes, they are. aren't they." I brightened for a moment.
"I've seen cards like those before ... say. it was at your house
last Christmas. Remember, your aunt gave them to you last year.
Say, if you've got two. could 1 have these?"
"No." 1 suppose it was the way I said it that set him to
thinking.
At hone. after Betty had gone to bed. father took me aside and
apologized for giving me the old gift over again. He and mother
hadn't wanted me to be disappointed at not getting anything at
the concert, he said but they were saving what money they had
so we could have presents on Christmas. I said it was all right, I
understood. And I tried too, but I still cried a little in bed.
At recess the next day, the last day before school let out for the
holidays Bobby put it to me. "That was the cards your aunt
gave you that you got last night wasn't it."
"None of your business."
"I've seen that done before. My cousin had it happen just
before my uncle had to sell off the farm last year. Are you poor?"
I knew better than to answer. I knew better than to tell family
business in the school yard ever since I repeated a remark of my
mother's about Johnny Williams spending more time in the
Hampstead tavern than with his wife and kids. It got back to my
mother and she convinced me never to do it again. So I kept
quiet.
"Dad says it's because everybody's charging at your store and
nobody's paying their bills," Bobby came back. I didn't answer.
I couldn't. It was all 1 could do to keep from crying. I didn't like
the idea of being poor. Poor was something to be ashamed of,
like the children in the books by Dickens that mother read me
once when I was home from school with scarlet fever. I just
walked away from Bobby and hid in the toilet until the bell rang
again.
At noon, I ran home before Bobby could catch up to me. At the
afternoon recess 1 pretended I had work to finish so I could stay
in. After school, although Bobby and the others were going down
to the long flat spot on the road to play shinny, I went straight
home. I went up to my room, ignoring my usual haunt in the
store. I usually liked to lie there in the warmth near the stove,
smelling the leather from the boots on the back wall and the
different scents from the dried fruits by the food counter or the
yard goods on their shelves and listening to the rough voices of
the farmers as they came in to pick up supplies and exchanged
jokes and talk about weather with my father. Most of all I liked
rxE
WAXWORKS
PHONE 357-1782
WINGHAM
food Gift crags
Combining cheeses and many
other delicacies to delight
the palate, are a pleasure to give
and receive.
View these tempting
Christmas packages
on display now.
December 1978, Village Squire 25