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The Clinton News Record, 1921-12-22, Page 7vy no, 0'►..r..ta;;.k.ts.aasseetnee as", m.,..T. i sN)p ) Mackellar and Son By Louise Richardson Rorke. It was Christmas Day and snowing --great feathery flakes that filled the damp air and outlined every branoh and twig of `the apple trees in the orchard, and made wonderful the tall sentinel spruces gnaidthg the• gate- way a£ the lane—that :even clmig, ie the soft wind to the fences and the walls of the gray frame house• and of the outbuildings, and cast a robe of ermilxe over the seutheiino ate inddotvall f the big red barn, making q tlnet anal unreadable,. the glaring, white legend painted across •its •face, "Mackallar and Son," It was early twilight and the struggling lights from the farmhouse Windows were quite lost long before they could have shone upon the big barn; nor, since the sign was on its roadward side, could they possibly have illuminated it, had they done so. Yet it was this sign which was at present the topic of conversation in the kitchen, "I wish you'd get that stencil changed, Archie?" Mrs. Mackellar had been down cellar, hunting out some good apples to eat. She spoke querulausly of the brand on the bar- rel head. "And on the barn! I never 'did like it! It looked too eons'pieuoue, even when Fred was alive. And now —now it's terrible: It must look dreadful to the Almighty lookin' down on it. Him titin' away the only son you had, ase you persistinl in paint- ing up in greet big letters over every- thing'. 'Mackellar and Son'! And it certainly must look mighty queer to the neighbors." "I can't see it that way, mother, about Gad," Mackeller responded, after a moment's silence. "An' it don't matter much about the neigh- bors." He was a thin, bent, little man, well peat middle age, with white hair and blue -gray eye's' looking coura.ge- ously out from a face that was clean- ly chiseled and smooth -shaven, His wife might have been ten years his junior. She expressed her annoteen,ce by an abrupt lifting of her shoulders. The gesture was so marked that be eontimued deprecatingly: "That signs Ueeu.see ,t'he.leen for six years now; ever since the October' that Fred was sixteen, and it was that same year we got our apple stencil made. Fred was terrible proud o' these apple barrels!" Mackellar chuckled raniindseently, and, then sigh- ed. He eat for a long moment gazing art the edge of his paper. "Seems aa if I just -couldn't pack apples without that old stencil," he said. Mrs. Mackellar did not answer. She had used up all • her common-sense arguments long ego. "It just snakes me cold and sick whenever I get a glimpse of that big sign, just as if I rend the letter again, air! knew again be wase dead an never comm' back. I don't see how you can bear it. I never look near the apple barrels when I can help it. It just looks es if you dldnr't care enough to bother buying a mw stencil." She paused, shocked at her words; "Of course, I knew it isn't that," she hastened; '!but it meat look; so to the neighbors11 , To her surprise, he 'nude no retort. I wish I could get you to tray how I .feel about it," he answered, pa- tjently. "Fred end I were to be pert nave -we were partnere. Of course, now he's dead -I don't know anything about the new life he's livin' now." "The Bible tells you about it. He's with the angels in Heaven praising God, and far more happy and content than we be here." "Well, maybe so, mother. Maybe so, Seems someway a, -deal easier to feel that he's welkin' across the fields right on this here old farm that was to be hie, or in the box stall tallcin' to theeolts. er no -min' in now out of all the storm with the mail." "I don't know whet's get into you, father," • Mee. Mackellar answered sunny. "You talk about Fred like a heathen—and now when religion would be such a comfort to you. I with you could feel different" "I don't know as I want to," he answered slowly. And after a oto- monk, "Ilut we'll have to paint the barn in, the spring. • Wantin' hint doesn't bring him,, an' playin' he's here is only a child's game. We'll paint it red again, all red." "Wa'.1, I'd be real relieve.?," Mrs. Mackellar answered quickly. "You'd best buy the paint when you're in town next week; no tel in' how it'll aeaise in paiee, an' paint']] keep, any time." Mackellar rose slowly. "I guess I'd 'better be lookin' after_ the furnace," he said. He went slowly down the cellar stairway, Tensing for a thoughtful moment at -its foot, Then he turned into the .apple cellar. The Mackallar farm had won a reputation for its erchard's. The apple dello: was three- quarters filled with new barrels, shin- ing faintly golden in the light of the lamp which the old man held. Black and plain acro -es every barrel head ran the legend, "Mackellar and Son, Grade I." Preen ,the ceiling rafters above, depended the stencils, made of cardboard end heavily ehellaced, in all tho ragged stages of long wear. It was more than time for new ones. They broke too easily. The next would better be of weed, or tin. Fred had helped -'him make these—that rainy day. out in the drive -band, just after the boy as sixteen. Ah, well! He took them gently from the nails, his clumsy old bands grown strangely tender. Foe a long minute he stood gazing sea+aight into theblackness in leas morning when Archie Mackellar no Christmas tires te make th m re- member," Yet, there was a sort of beert-breelting comfort, too, in re- meuritering, 'By-and-by, because she was. shiver- ing with cold, she came out again to the kitchen, She was knitting when bhe door op ne,d to admit Maelteller, white with snow. He had some let- tere and papers in his hand. Some weariness In his face arrested her, even as she reached for the letters. "You're tired out, Archie?" "Oh, no." He tools off his overcoat, and hung it on the row of nails behind the door, brushing the snow e'a2efully from -his cap and boots. Then he went over and sat down by the table, his hands en his' knees, "Ain't you going to read the pa- pees7" "I guess not; there doesn't seem to be any news these clays, nothing worth bothering over:" •• Mrs. Mackellar opened the two let- tere whirl?' uveae -hers, 'They contain- ed Christmas messages and she. pored over them with interest, holding them eleee to the laanp. ' She 'looked • els at last to inquire of Mackellar: !'Did you get any mail, father?" "Nothin' but a •circular.• • 1 didn't bother to open it. Probably a price list. It's from the Brockman Apple Campaoy." He glanced toward a large business envelope. lying on the table. "rid look at it to -morrow;" he The Meckeliass were early risers. It was barely half -past six on Christ - all the hong day,. and others and others•stretehing.on interminably. He dreaded 'somehow".to 'begin. this long stretch of unending days without the thought of Fred. ; He bead a strange hesitation about taking up • their simple tarps, as if, thus doing, he,, in some way, bound himself to them. Aimlessly he reached. for the eireular which he had brought home the night before. It was at'least something to do—a feeble barrier raised with the last remnant of eourage against the overwhelming flood of despair. It was not, after all, a circular. The business envelope enclosed another addressed simply to "Maelcellas*, in care of the Brockman Apple Com- pany." He opened it li,stlesely, but as he read; his face changed, and when he had finished, still standing by the lamp -lit table, he went back, sheet after sheet, ever its closely written pages, This was how it ran: "Dear Sir:—I am visiting a friend of mine in Toronto, who has two bar- rels of apples bought from the Brock- nion Apple Company, and marked with your brand. I had seen that brand 'once before, and someway I want to tell you about it. I think you would want to know this, but if I'm wrong and my letter only makes ymu sad, I hope you will forgive me. "I thought perhaps you'd like to know that 'Mackellar and Son,' just as it Looks in your stencil, is carved Into the shattered trunk of a huge tree well up into whet was then the enemy's line, near the little village of St. Onge, in France. It is close be- side a sacrifice position, which was of things on the farm; he said; 'and I'm putting through his end here; He'd jai y well be here, if he was younger,' he said. 'He backed me up splendidly' when I' wanted to enlist --to mother and all of them. It's'Maekellar and Son' back home where 'he's running', the farm -alone, and -by Jove, it's going to be 'M'ackellar• and Son' up here where I'm.fip'htin:g alone foe both of us, ' I've stuck the sign up every- where we've been,' he •said, anti laugh- ed. I'll bet he made it good, too. He had the look. "I had to coma away then, but we heard next day that none of the mem wile were with those guns escaped; "I thought you might want to know this abqut,the sign. When I slaw your stencil, I some way cealdnit•help writ- ing it to you, "Yours, with truest sympathy, "Arthur L. McLeod." Mackellar read it again and • again. Mrs. Mackellar, tired of keeping breakfast hot, after half -an -hour of waiting, went down the harrow drift - hedged path to the red barn. At its coiner, she met her husband plowing through the drifts with the long lad- der over his shoulder. "What you been doing, Arcade, in the snow, with that badder?" she asked in surprise. "1 was just trying to knock the snow off the south side o' the barn,' he answered, "It's fairly coated" He stooped suddenly and kissed her • "Merry Christmas, mother!" be said. But Mrs. Mackellar's mind was on the barn, Little house of Christmas, in your white lane set, Halfway twixt the highways of re- member and forget, Once a year your windows wake with welcome taper -glow. Once a year your gate swings wide to feet of long ago. Little house of Christmas, at your fragrant feast, All are bidden to the board, the greatest and the least; Silk and velvet -mantled hopes rub elbows side by side With little, tattered, beggared dreams that crept in wistful -eyed. Little hoose of Christmas, all drifted deep with snow, Holly -decked, and sweet with fir and hung with mistletoe. .All the roads of all the world cheer- less were and drear Were your blazing� Yule logs quench- ed that beckon once a year, Hands stretch welcome at your sill the years have thrust apart, Memories clasp -tender arms about each lonely heart, Long -lost faces gather close, voices loved of old Ring across the holly -boughs beneath the taper -gold. Little house of Christmas in your white ]ane set, Half -way twixt the highways of re- member and forget, May each storm -bound wanderer weary and alone Hear some voice call cheer to him across your lintel -stone. front of him.. Then, lifting the lamp from the barrel -head, where he had placed it, he moved resolutely to the furnace. He wa'tch'ed the flames leap up for the, crackling shellac, watched thein von hungrily over the shining surface, aatc.hed them die leaving only a blackened mess, theeugh which tho words. "Mackellar and Son—and Son" glowed brightly, li,t by the coals beneath, watched even this fade and fall into gray ashes, and, forgetting his reel errand, dosed the door and carne softly 'back upstairs. "I'm going down for the avail, An- iite," he paid, .after a'hhesitant moment. Someway the house seemed stiflingly close. "Yes, I'll walk down. 'Tain't worth the trouble of harnessing. The storm ain't bad yet, an' it locks like weal be snowed in to -morrow," "'Tatin't idkely theue'''ii be any mail," Mrs, blackener Insisted, "Ne. But I guess I'll go. I—well, I kind -of want to see Barton abottt them new shear --he hasn't fitted Starry ?ileo Thompson, did," "Men are all alike," Mrs. Maclsellar thought as leo went out. But she waa glad he had gone, She went into the cold front rcioni amid steed looking at Pried's picture, "ft would be a better would for people who are in trouble," she thought, "if theme were entered the Lig farm kitchen. It had tie usual desclate untidiness of early day. The chairs were just es they had been left the night before; a plate of apple peelings was on the table; a stray piece or two had fallen onto the red cloth. The Christmas cards lying by the torn envelope caught his eye, He picked thele up listles•Tly, and put then, down again. It was Christmas morning. Christmas had always beet a great daisy when Frecl was home, , Ah, well, Fred was gone now, and he and Annie were getting old. The bey wies gone? It seemed someway as if it was. the first time he had ever really believed that it suis so; es though soave deal* and comforting presotioe had gone from him since the night before. Life seemed suddenly to have come to an end, Tlie yestrs of •living might drag on; here was the real death. He ac- cepted it with an apathy strange to him, It was more bitten' if Ices poig- nant illian Inds first sharp grief at the news that lrt•ed was killed, That had been unbeldevable. This was a sub- merging tide of reatizatien. He moved about softly, doing the little 'bits of morning work—the fire to stern; hi the geate, the paths to shovel, There wore the cattle and homes at the htarn, and br iikfast, arae? held by two sections of the Third Bat- tery of the Fourth Divisional Artil- lery. They had waited all day long hidden there, for the engagement to begin. I was sent up with a mcneage for their major, and as I crept for- ward through the trees -we were within anew hundred feet of the Ger- man line—I came across a boy orou.ch- ed beside a huge tree, cutting initials, as I thought, with a jack-knife. I stopped to ask him a question and glanced at 'his work, -half expecting to see a girl's name. He had just finished, and was closing his Iteife, It wasn't very usual, a thing like that, and I asked hint abort it. "His tither and he were partners, he peal, 'hack on the Ontario farm, which was his hone. The day he was sixteen, hire father had lied the name of the firm painted up on the 'barn— 'Mackellar and Sown' I guess the boy had been mighty proud of it. At any rate, he'd carved 'Mackellar and Sold over the half of France. "It -seems he had another thought about it, too. Ho tried to toll me in a shy, boyish wary. gelding grow con- fidential while they wait lute that, end •1 was so rout elder, he seemed to like to taut with me. Ilo and hie sled were partners evert now, while he was aweey, 'He's putting through my end "Why "should you be doing that?" she remonstrated. "It can't do any ]'arm there." "No, no, it can't," Mackellar ans- wered contentedly. After breakfast, he went whistling about the cellar, breaking now and then into matches of song, "What you dolt', Archie?" Mee. Mackellar asked curiously. She pon- dered a moment aver his answer be- fore she went back again about her wol,k "Ju.st nrakin' us some new stencils," he had said. A Carol To Bethlehem beneath the Staff' The Wise men frog), the outlands far Caine clad in silk and vajr; Christ Jesus in His Mother's hold Stared at the jewels and the gold The three made wondrous fair. Then first the swarthy Baltasar, Whose glance was like a scimitar, Stood forth before the rest; Although he bore the fragrant myrrh, Christ .esus turned from hhn to her And hid within her breast. Behind him was the youth Gaspar Who held a shining crystal jar, His face was merry and red; Although he bore the frankincense And was of debonair presence Christ Jesus turned His head, The third was haughty Melchior, Dark with the spoil of mart and war, He bore the crusted gold; - Christ Jesusgave a cry of pain And looked not on them once again, But nestled in His fold. For they had brought Him treasure-trove, But had not any little love For one they thought a King; Christ Jesus gave to Mary then His first mild message unto men,Love is the precious thing. -Duncan Campbell Scott. • _ t e Land of Christmas Once upon a time there was a poor little lame boy who had no toys.' Tom knew this was true, for one day, at the little boy's house, Torn asked him to bring out his toys, and the little boy answered, "I haven't any toys." Tom could hardly believe that there was anybody in the world without even one toy, so he went home and told Little Sister about it, and to- gether they planned to bring the little boy a toy from the beautiful Land of Christmas. Mother was willing for them to go, so hand in band, on the day before Christmas went Toni aid Little Sis- ter. They did not know the way, so they asked a feathery snowflake which came and lighted saucily on the end of Tom's finger; "Pretty snowflake while you linger On the tip of my warm finger, Tell ine, where's the Land of Christ- mas?" And it answered, oh, so softly; "Little boy end girl, politely Ask yon tree that shines so brightly If you seek the Land of Christmas! The children continued their jour- ney, and et last they arrived at the great tree, all shining brightly across the white snow. When the children asked the way to Christmas Land, thus the shining tree responded: Step into my trunk so hollow. Take the MWand• and follow The Shining Path to Christmas Land•"agic So they stepped into the hollow thunk, where they found magic wands. Toni chose a silver wand with n star at the end of it, and Little Sister a golden one, with a white dove at its end. When the children stepped out of the tree, they were surprised to fins themselves grow very small indeed nd this they noticed—if the magic 'wands were held deft, the children renis:' } small, but if the wands were lowered, fan, children • grew large again. • The children kneie• 'haat in the Land of Magic they must oL ! ail the great commands, so they `fie sir down the Shining Path, holding magic wends high in the air. They journeyed on and en and at last they reached - a greet wally -and -when they looked np they saw beautiful lights which spelled the words "Christmas Land" over the tiny gateway! Tom reached up and pulled the..bel1- rope, and out upon the frosty .air rang the .sweetest chimes you ever heard. Soon the tiny gates opened and Tom and Little Siete•' were glad that they were small enough to slip through! And oh, such a beautiful land as it was? Every tree was a Christmas tree all laden with Christ- mas gifts, The music boxes were playing, the horns were tooting, the dolls were saying "Mamma" • and "Papa," the Jacks -in -the -box were jumping out and then hiding again, •and everything seemed to be saying, "Take niel Take lie!" It was hard for the children to select just one toy for their little friend. • They skipped about ter a Iong time, examining the toys. Finally, on the top branch of one of the tallest trees, there hung a box tied with a big red bow. On one side were printed the words "Magic Lantern." "The very thingl" said Tom; but how could he bring down the box from the top of a tree so tall—for, as you remember, the children were very small. Just then. a little breeze whis- pered in Tom's ear: "Little fairies, tell me why I see you sit so still and sigh; I will get the box for yowl" Then the little breeze blew into a strong breeze and flew into the top of the tree. There he tugged and pulled and puffed, until at last the string had to let go and down fell the box, red bow and all, into a salt bank of snow. The children were over- joyed when tho box containing the tragic lantern was -saafe 171 their haaidel Then they went 'bash along the Shining Path, and very soon reached the ,geeat -Skiving Tree, Into its hol- low trunk they went, and lett the magic wands, and as soon as they stepped out into the daylight again, they found themselves as large es ever. They ran et and on, until they ' tidally reached the little boy's window. Tho setting sun was painting every- thing red incl orange ani' gold, and when they peeped in, there lay the poor 'boy on this little cot, and his ettapty stocking hung from the basis of a -chair.. The chair stood near the window, and on the mite that was pinned tpl the stocking Tom read the worde: "Dear Santa Claus; If you should happen to have just one toy to spare for me, won't you please leave me a magic lantern?" • Torn softly opened the window and' placed the box with its precious toy on the chair news the empty stocking. Then the children slipped away tel their home, where they told Mothers` their secret. Ansi all would have gone well, ire. the lantern had not been a magic lan- tern; foe m some way it had taken a picture of Tom, and another o7 Littr`h Sister. So the next morning the happy' little boy sat in his ehair opposite iitja screen which his poor, herd-workiet p; mother. had put up. Together bhey watched eagerly for the first picture. And would yeu believe it, that tell- tale machine showed, first, Tom's smil- ing face, and then Little Sister's' dimpled one! ' Christmas." How tenderly the Pence -song falls On listening ears to-night— The song that angels sang of ':- l In clouds of heavenly light 0 hear the voice, ye sons of melt, , That speaks from out the' glory, • And tells the strange and-mystio .l birth— That blessed, old-time story, 'Tis peace and love to all man.-, kind The angel choir is pinging. 'Tis peace and love once more to -night The Christmas bells are rive_, ing.. With humble shepherds we would haste The Bethlehem Babe to see, And hail with thankful song's (, again His glad nativity. niversiiy Women's Residences. Women students at tho Univeasitee of Toronto 0170 organizil RA raisin, funds for a r, sidenee boiling. Por many years e peersingrnecesecty fox'j semen's ren•ders-'i , Pmvireial University has. been apparent. In ' creasing nonthese of seeing wove* ' from the ruaeal districhs, Prem the vil-y lageu. ton -re, ant cities of Ontario area, cooling to this great inaiitttticae in; quest of an education ankh they. 'nest be seitaliiy and coamfortetaly housed! ,sear the University. Of the sevcre;i buildings iehich the University of To-„ ronto so badly reeds this cue Is the most urgent and it is to be h•,pecl that' the young women will be su eetsJ'ol t0 their elide -aver to arouse iulered and to secure funds for the mecnrnpl!,h,•' ment of their purpose. Ord Engish Carel I saw three ships coma sailin,t; .s. On Christmas Day, on ate -ase -as Day; I saw three ships come sailing is. On Christmas Day in the 'reninge AnCI ell the souls on era h stall sing, On Christmas Day. or, Ch- 911)155 uay; And all the souls on vcnt.h shall sing On Christmas Day in the ms r..hil4 Faith never Mile; it is a n,irnrlo worker. It looks beyond nit bound- aries, transcends all limitatio-n , pone•• trates all obstacles and seen .the goal, If we had perfect faith—•the faith that moves reountaies--wa could Cure all our ills and accomplish. the maxi. mum of our possibilities.