The Return of Santa Claus

THE RETURN OF SANTA CLAUS By Elsie Talmage Brandley "That's all for today, Miss Free. Just get those letters off and then run along. There won't be anything pressing tomorrow either, so you'd better take the day for your Christmas preparations — you do make Christmas preparations, don't you?" Wesley Stannard's voice was merely polite. It sounded almost- heartless for a man to speak of Christmas in the same tone as he would use in asking if it had stopped raining. He should have endowed the words with a halo! There should have been radiance, and glamor, and sparkle in a question dealing with such a subject! What could be wrong with such a person? "Yes, indeed, I've preparations to make! There's the ribbon to sew on two aprons for Mother, and Dad's handkerchiefs to mono- gram, and Buddy's — " "Yes, of course," interrupted the man. "Well, Merry Christ- mas," and the detached politeness in his voice told the girl that she was dismissed. Her manner of withdrawing fairly shouted indignant disgust. "She thinks I'm a hard-boiled old business man, with not a drop of the milk of human kindness to my name! And, by George, I don't suppose she is missing it so fatf at that. I'd give a new dime to know just what happened to that jolly old Wes Stannard I used to be. He wasi a real fellow! Nice chap!" And the memory of the man in the office-chair began to wander back in the gallery of other years, and it paused in tender exultation before the pictures he loved the best, to let their colorful potency steal in his senses again. There was a crimson day of long ago — still vividly exhilarating — when Young Stannard had sent the football bounding through the goal, and had won the day for the old school! What cheers, what ecstasy, what pride had filled him that day! It was so gloriously crimson that it almost hurt his eyes, from the distance of twenty years. Next came the picture of a day of pure gold — the day he had seen Marian for the first time. She was standing in a great clump of golden-rod, and the afternoon sun had made of her curly hair an aureole. He had known at once that he had found his girl — the one of whom he had dreamed for so long. The sunshine and gold of that day was still untarnished. And the white and silver of their wedding day! The filmy veil, and the white, white dress that Marian wore! The starry light in her eyes, and the dull gleam of the candles behind her, in their silver sconces! Sir Galahad himself could never have felt more of consecration and devotion to a high purpose than did Wesley Stannard. on his silver day!

THE RETURN OF SANTA CLAU3 109 There followed the blue picture; blue with the actual tint of heaven as Marian's sapphire eyes had raised to smile at him over the wee form of their new-born son. He had felt sure then that Dan's eyes would be blue, and they were. The only distinct picture after that was the gray one — the dull picture of sorrow when he and Marian had stood above the little mound of flower-strewn earth which was all they had left of Dan; but their love for each other had saved both from despair. So long ago it was, and yet so clear to his memory! Strange that to a man standing in the shadow of his own discontent, the past seemed more light and radiant than he had known it to be when he had lived and moved and had his being in the very heart of its warmth. A man really owed it to himself to take more interest in the big things of life while they were in his grasp. They left him soon enough! What did he have now of Christmas? Only rather jum- bled and indistinct recollections of boyhood celebrations punctuated with stockings-full of things to eat or play with, and an assortment of wagons, skates, tool-chests, and books; and the memories of little Dan's happiness on the Christmas days which would have been so much more significant to his father could he have dreamed that after nine of them had passed, the spirit of Christmas would have fled with the soul of the lad. Now, from his position on the other side of happiness, Stannard realized that every day of his early years could have been lived more intensively, more fully-appreciated, and in that way their sweetness might have been stretched out to make palatable these unbearable days of deadly business routine, now barren of any of the beauty which was so prodigally evident in his pictures of the past. There had been plenty of gladness and merry laughter and cheer in by-gone Christmases to have carried over to lesson the bleak dreariness of the ones he had to live through nowadays; if he could have forseen the days to come, they might not have come just as they had. Perhaps he might ha.ve distilled part of the joy of those times, and kept it in a small vial which could have been tipped a little and made to pour out jus-t enough of the precious essence to perfume the present! Stannard broke off from his fanciful philosophizing with a dis- gusted snort. "What rot! You're acting like a love-sick' school boy;" and in his use of the second person he proved that the idea of two separate Wesley Stannards had not entirely departed. "Of course, Christmas will be a bore, but it will be to a lot of people besides you. Everyone who has to prepare, or eat, or suffer indigestion from the silly dinners that come with the day will be bored more or less with the procedure, so you are no worse off than the rest. Even Marian, pretending to be so gay with her bunch of dancing, laughing friends is probably bored with all that, too, so don't get to regarding your- self as particularly afflicted in that line." And as he thus ruminated, a woman, slender, pretty, and looking

110 IMPROVEMENT ERA only a few of her thirty-seven years, was gazing wistfully upon the framed likeness of the man in the office, and she, too, was thinking. "Stan, what have I done? Where have I failed you? You never seem to need me in your life any more, and Dear, I need you so very much!" But they cried out only in their two hearts, and neither heard the other calling. Stannard rose presently and taking his coat and hat went out to board the elevator, and make the descent which marked the end of the working day. Pushing out into the frosty air, he was con- scious of increased dissatisfaction and unrest. The sight of glad-eyed, bundle-laden throngs, hurrying home through the crisp December evening, irritated and depressed him somehow. Christmas gifts! "But I must not forget to get something for Marian. There's not much joy in looking forward to the sort of day which Christmas is bound to be, but I suppose it would look pretty /bad to let it go by without something for her. I'll have to see to that first thmv.', in the morning, sure." Stopping under a bright street light he extracted from his inside pocket a red leather memorandum book, and finding the section mark- ed "Dec. 24," jotted upon the top line, briefly, "Present for Marian." Then he smiled a bitter sort of smile that little Dan never would have recognized as his father's. "So Christmas has come to mean just this!" he said half aloud. "Present for Marian — nothing for anyone else. No tree, no stock- ings to fill, no mystery or gladness. In short, no Santa Claus!" A gust of wind, heralding a Christmas storm, blew a few pre- liminary snow-flakes into his face, and into his consciousness the childish voices of two who were trying to reach the slit in the mail- box on the corner. "Do you 'spect Santa Claus gets letters without any stamps on, Dick?" A little girl was asking the question of a slightly taller lad at her side. "Sure he does if we send it in the mail-box, and I believe I c'n reach it. There I've reached it! Gimmme the letter, Nettie." His sister held it up to him just as a second and more power- ful wind breath came along, briskly tearing it from her small hand and carrying it straight as an arrow along its path. Wesley Stannard was in that path, and the folded scrap of paper stopped against the breast of his closely-buttoned overcoat, and clung there. "The kid's letter to Santa," he conjectured, and started toward them to restore it. They were looking everywhere for it, and Stan- nard could see them quite clearly as they neared him, under the street light. They were shabbily dressed, and blue with the cold which penetrated their thin clothing. "No!" he decided suddenly. "Their letter will be as safe with

THE RETURN OF SANTA CLAUS 111 me as it would he with the postman, and it might give me some- thing to do on Christmas." He walked un-noticing past them, their diminishing voices following as he went. "Well, maybe Santy might find it anyway if the wind took it. He finds the ones that get sent up fireplace chimneys, and the wind takes them, doesn't it, Licky?" "That's a good idear, Netta,. He's jest as likely to as not. Let's go home and wait a day or two and p'haps we'll hear from him," the boy replied with big-brotherly superiority. The ten blocks from town to his home seemed a pleasant walk to the man tonight. He felt younger, lighter in spirit than for months. It would be diverting to do this little Christmas job that fate had so plainly decreed was his to do, and the anticipation of it, hazy as the details were, stimulated him strangely. He could scarcely wait to turn the key and switch the light on, to read the message the two youngsters in their shabby clothes and rich faith had sent to the good old saint whose reputation With every child is so enviable. The writing was crooked and wobbly — Stannard had known it would be, for the boy couldn't have been over* ten, and little Dan's writing that last year, when he was ten, had often forced the reader to highly suppositional conclusions regarding his meaning. The trick Stannard's memory had of bringing Dan's expressive face back so clearly before him, whenever a real child came under his observa- tion, brought with it a blinding mistiness which tonight made the reading of the dirty little note all the more difficult. "Dear Santa Claus"; ran the first line, tipsily. "Me and Netta lives with misses Janes at 119 Maple strete \vho tretes us good but she don't have enuff to. feed us and all her own sence mama went away and don't pay her no munny. We don't want to go to the orfans home so pleas send us some folks for Xmas if you got enny that hasent enny children, with love dick Toland. P. S. Netta wood like a doll too but wede both be satisfide with jest plain folks>" Stannard read the note again and still again. "So the poor little tads want 'jest plain folks' do they? That's a bigger order than it sounds at first. The doll will be easy enough to manage, but I guess there are others who'd like some plain folks, if they were to be had for the asking! Especially at Christmas time." There was a rustle of silk and the faint aroma of violets as Marian came down stairs. "Stan! How you frightened me, standing there so still! Is anything wrong? You look so queer, somehow." "Nothing is wrong, of course, Marian. I walked home pretty fast, and am just getting my breath, I suppose. Going out tonight?" "After dinner, yes. Don't you remember my telling you about

112 IMPROVEMENT ERA Grace Fulton's Christmas house-party? You were asked, but re- fused very bluntly if you recall the little matter correctly." "O yes, I believe I do remember something about it,. Don't mind me, Marian. I'm not a bit of good at this butterfly life, and if I tried to keep it up I wouldn't have any pep for my work. You're happier without my solemn presence, and we both know it, so let's not pretend either of us want me along on your parties." "But this is different, Stan. I'd really be glad if you would change your mind and come with me tonight. It is so queer I think, to spend Christmas in different houses right on the same street. Won't you come?" "Can't do it, Marian. Tomorrow will be brimful of important business engagements, and I need some kind of a rest on Christmas Day. I'm all run down, somehow, and a three-day party like Grace's would be the last of me." "Well, come in to dinner, then. I'm sorry, Stan, that you don't enjoy my friends, and * * * and me." That was all. Their little differences had come about so gradu- ally that their two lives were running along entirely divergent lines without any particular friction. Both faced and deplored the situa- tion and tried to be as pleasant as possible to each other, as strangers who have little in common, smile and chat amiably together. The day before Christmas was ajingle with sleigh-bells and aglow with holly-berries and great bows of red ribbon flaming everywhere. Stannard, having disposed of several of his most pressing business details went forth to discharge the obligation mentioned on line one of the section in his memorandum dated "Dec. 24." It was a fur he got for Marian's Christmas gift, a luxuriant, beautiful thing that stilled in a measure, the whisper of disloyalty he had felt in planning a real celebration in which she was to have no part. He drew a line through "Present for Marian," and wrote below it several items. Look up hbuse at 119 Maple St. "Doll for Netta, 'Tricycle for Dick. "Candy, nuts, oranges, bananas. "Santa Claus suit." After a hasty lunch, he set out to do the things he had out- lined. The first item took him out near the railroad tracks, into a district unfamiliar and dingy. The house he sought was a dilapidated place, lacking paint and window-panes here and there, but the cur- tains at the windows were as clean as recent laundering could make them, and a geranium, blooming scarlet above the can in which it stood gave an air of holiday festivity to the place. Having assured himself of the actual existence of a house at the number given in the unlawfully-acquired letter to Santa Claus, Stan-

THE RETURN OF SANTA CLAUS 1 1 3 nard concluded that it would be much more interesting to make the .affair a complete surprise to everyone concerned, so he retraced his way back to town without having seen anyone living in the geranium- adorned house at 119 Maple St. The shopping expedition was grat fun. It was years since he and Marian had bought toys at Christmas-time, and the revival of the old thrill enchanted him. The "doll for Netta" resulted as well in a doll-buggy of size and style to delight the most fastidious little mother in Christendom; a drawing-book, set of small dishes) upon which birds and flowers flourished in abundance, and a well-equip- ped sewing box found their way into the increasing stock of Stan- dard's purchases. Dick's tricycle gave place to a coaster-wagon and fine tool-chest, together with an array of games and mechanical toys which made the m2n wish with all his heart that he were a boy again, at the ripe age of ten. There was a fragmentary notion within some practical corner of his brain, to the effect that there should be some warm, durable cloth- ing among the gifts, but so great wasi his interest in the playthings that he dismissed the other thought half-apologetically. "After Christmas I can give Mrs. Jaynes some money to buy things to wear, for she'd know better than I what they need. Poor little kids! They need a jolly good time and plenty to eat as much as anything eke, if I'm any judge, and my intention is to see that they get it for once." This thought put a fresh duty on his list. The dinner must not be neglected, and going to the nearest phone he called Marian. "Have you made any plans for dinner tomorrow?" he asked her. "I'll be here at Fulton's, of course, but Sarah has orders to serve you a real Christmas repast at two o'clock. Is that all right?" There was a note in her voice that Stannard thought bordered on wist- fulness. It was a mistaken idea, he knew, but it brought an un- familiar lump of tenderness into his throat, nevertheless. Marian had been a mighty good little pal in those earlier years, and her voice was always so attractive. "That's fine, thanks dear. Merry Christmas to you, Marian." "You don't want me to come home, do you Stan?" And again "he wondered what it was that made him think of her as she used to be — sweet, sympathetic, and considerate. "I couldn't spoil your party just to have you for dinner. I'll get along nicely, thanks. Good-bye." "Goodbye, Stan. A merry Christmas to you, too." Hurrying away from the telephone the man made a few addi- tional purchases to insure the completeness of the meal for to- morrow. Then there were the candy, nuts and fruit. A bushy tree was in turn selected as were great boxes of colorful ornaments and tiny lights strung on a wire. Stannard had quite a difficult ten minutes trying to decide between the Santa Claus lights and the

114 IMPROVEMENT ERA little globca shaped like different fruits. The latter finally won on the merit of their greater variety, and the settling of the question afforded him infinite satisfaction. He felt young, gay, although care- free, but through the bright fabric of his joyousness ran a thread of dull wonder. What was the true interpretation of that new quality in Marian's tone? The words came back to him again and again. "You don't want me to come home, do you, Stan?" He tried to forget the little incident, but it persisted. After buying the last thing, the Santa Claus suit, he started toward home, and as he went, a voice almost pleading, rang in his consciousness once more, "You don't want me to come home, do you, Stan? "O Marian!" His lonely heart uttered the words that his cool brain would not permit. "If you could only come home — home as it used to be! Full of love and understanding, and with the little son to play with!" But Marian could not hear, for she was too far away to catch the sound of a cry that was only in a man's heart. Stannard put in the busiest Christmas Eve he had spent in years- He chose the big cozy basement playroom for his field of operations; the kiddies could romp and celebrate there all day long, and nothing would be the worse for wear. Marian never liked things cluttering up her dignified living-room, and it was only natural that two chil- dren on Christmas day would clutter up. After making this decision he set the tree near the great fireplace downstairs, and proceeded to decorate it with all the fervor of those other years. The stockings he hung above the grate, and dotted about the room were the rest of the gifts for the two trusting young- sters. It was a fascinating task, and Stannard found himself smiling delightedly at any particular happy effect; twice he began to sing some s-ong about jolly old St. Nicholas leaning his ear somewhere, but that was all he could remember. It was six years since he had heard that song. The next morning found him astir as early as any respectable person should be. After making the furnace fire and fixing the fire- place just ready for the touch of a match later, he donned the red and white garb of old Santa Claus. Then incongruously climbing into a closed motor-car instead of the regulation sleigh and eight prancing reindeers, he started off through the gray dawn for the shabby little house in Maple Street. In response to his knock the door was opened by a worn-looking woman evidently awakened by the summons. Her drowsiness was instantly dispelled by the sight of the red and white apparition at the door, and she exclaimed, "My land, if it ain't old Santy him- self!" "Yes, and I've come to borrow Netta and Dick for the day, to show them a real Christmas. I got their letter and have things ready for a jolly celebratiory."

THE RETURN OF SANTA CLAUS 115 Fascinated, intrigued, unquestioning, the woman whose days were so drab and lacking in romance, led into her humble home the man who had come to bring enchantment for at least one day into the lives of her unfortunate little charges. "It's heaven's own mercy what sent you, Mr. Santa Claus," she assured him as she brushed vigorously at the curls of the heavy- eyed Netta. "These little ones have fretted most dreadful since they lost their letter, but I told them that what was best fur 'em would come. And now you see it's come!" she ended triumphantly. Wonderment and joy was gradually taking the place of Netta's sleepiness, and Richard sat apart, lacing his shoes but watching every movement of the smiling old gentleman whose coming had not sur- prised in the least. "Are we going to the North Pole, to your house?" Netta asked. Clearly nothing was unexpected to her. "The reindeers are pretty tired after their long night's work," Stannard apologized. "I thought you might enjoy an automobile ride just as well. How about it?" "O yes! We've never rode in one before, have we Netta?" Richard was delighted with the more modern prospect of locomotion. "And its almost too cold to be pleasant at the North Pole, so I got a friend of mine to let us use his house. He said he'd be glad to have us, and when I have to leave to see about things, he'll come and play with you." Both children were dressed now and wild to be on their way. "I'll see that the children get back safely, Mrs. Jaynes," ex- plained the man as the three left the house, and in a minute more they were off in the big blue car toward some unguessed, mysterious fairyland. The ride was all too short to the two who felt that nothing in the day that was opening before them could equal their first ride in an automobile. Their vague dissapointment at being told to climb out, so soon after climbing in, was dissipated as they found themselves being ushered into an unbelievably large and clean and painted house. At once they were taken downstairs into a place as brilliant and beautiful as the store windows in town,. "Oh!" cried Netta in awe-stricken wonder as she saw the tree with its dozens of tiny lights agleam in the green branches. "Oh!" said Dick, his quick glance falling upon a coaster wagon so evidently destined for a ten-year-old boy. "Oh!" they exclaimed together when they spied the bulging stock- ings hanging before the fire-place, just as stockings had hung in pic- tures they had seen. Their incredulous silence soon gave place to riotous glee. Hardly knowing where to start, they ran from one thing to another, back to the first one again. "Dick, see the little dishes, with birdies on!"

116 IMPROVEMENT ERA "But Nctta, looky the wagon!! I'll ride you all over town in it." Santa Claus was forgotten temporarily, but remembered a little later when Dick found himself too short to reach the stockings. "Now little ones," he said, after taking the stocking with their alluring lumps of the pegs on which they hung. "I must leave you for awhile, so I'll send the man who lives in this house down to play with you.. His name is Mr. Stan, and you must be very kind to him, for he has no boys and girls of hisi own." With a pat on each little head he was gone. Ten minutes later a man in a velvet jacket and brown slippers that made almost no noise at all came into the room. His voice, when he spoke, was so much like that of Santa Clause, that Netta and Dick felt drawn to him at once. "So you are the two Santa brought to spend the day with me! That's jolly, for I was just needing some like you. People get a bit lonely at Christmas time, don't they?" "Yes, it's nice to have someone all the time, isn't it Dicky?" "Sure is. We play with each other, don't we Netta?" Stannard found a new sharpness in the old pain which had never left his heart since Danny died. It was nice to have some- one all the time. How well he could remember the sweetness of it! At this point Sarah entered the room with a tray. She had been with the Stannards for twelve years, and was greatly in sympathy with plans such as Mr. Stannard had explained to her last night. She was to have the day off after dinner, but her interest was none the less sincere in helping to make the thing a success before that time. "Ah! Here comes some breakfast! That's fine. I'm starved, and I guess you are too. How about it?'" The man drew a table toward the fire, and Sarah placed the tray upon it. "Let me eat off the birdie dishes, can I?" Netta asked eagerly. "Bless 'er little 'eart, of course she can eat off'n the birdie dishes," exclaimed the captivated Sarah. Breakfast was a highly successful affair.. The novelty of but- tered toast, poached eggs, cocoa and jam was so great compared with their usual menu of oatmeal and blue milk, as to justify the kiddies in their ecstatic desertion of the gifts and toys. The inner man satisfied, they returned with increased gladness to their new possessions and not for one instant did their interest flag. Netta grew drowsy as the day grew on past noon, but her weariness was not of spirit. When sleep would no longer be denied, she accepted the situation without a murmur, and climbed upon the soft couch to doze off with the beloved doll clasped tight in one arm, and a birdie plate held in a small warm hand. She slept until the call for dinner, at which point her brother seemed to feel that slumber betokened ingratitude, for he insisted upon arousing her.

THE RETURN OF SANTA CLAUS 117 Stannard knew that the memory of that dinner would remain with him always. The enjoyment of the children was infectious, and the man relished every bite he took. But far above that pleasure was a mystic gladness, an intangible joy that to Stannard seemed almost celestial. He could scarcely restrain the tears as they burned behind his eyes with a pain that was to him soul-satisfying — consecrating. His whole being was flooded with happiness of the first magnitude that lacked but one element of perfection. He wanted Marian, of the old days, to share this joy. The day faded early into the gray dusk. Stannard put a fresh log on the big fireplace, and drew his chair up toward it. Half closing his1 eyes he could see in the bright flame, pictures of other Christmases in this room; Dan as a little lad with his first short hair- cut; Dan as a sturdy, roguish boy, overjoyed with his first pair of skates; Dan, so chummy and clear-eyed, that last Christmas before he was called away from them. The dream was so poignant in its realism that the warmth of a small hand stealing into his own, seemed a part of it all. Mr. Stan, will you tell us a story. It was Netta's voice, and in it a suggestion of childish com- raderie that touched his heart anew. Stories were an almost un- known quantity with him, but it was impossible to refuse the request she made with soich entire confidence. Catching her in his arms, he cuddled her down comfortably and began to tell the story of that first Christmas night in Bethlehem- At the first words, Richard left his tool-chest and tip-toed over nearer. " 'And there were shepherds watching in the fields by night — Was there a stir outside the door? Only fancy, of course, and he went on. ' — and the angels brought the message of "Peace on earth,, and good will toward men!" which will always be the true spirit of the Christmas time — Christ's birthday.' Silence was in the warm darkness of the room for just a mo- ment, broken then by the opening of the door and the unmistakable sound of sobbing. Turning, Stannard saw a quick figure coming to him, that dropped down and hid her face in the sweet bundle that was Netta. "Marian!" Stannard's voice was thrilling in its welcome. "Stan, how could you do this, and leave me out of it? O, if you just knew how I've longed every Christmas, every month, every day, for this very thing! I came home because my pride broke thinking you might need me. too, a little bit. Then to open that door and see you here with a tiny child in your arms was like looking into heaven from outside the gates. Stan, haven't I even a small place in your life any more?" The man bent and kissed her mass of dark hair.

118 IMPROVEMENT ERA "It hasn't been much of a life since I lost you out of it, dear." he answered huskily. Later he showed her the dirty, crumpled letter which had prompt- ed his Christmas plan. Reading it, she smiled through the tears. "Bless their trusting little hearts! We need them, too, don't we, Stan? Couldn't we keep them always, as our Christmas present to each other. "There's nothing I'd rather have than a chance to be the kids' folks — the plainer the better! It would be enchanting to have them every Christmas, and all the time in between, to watch their fun." "And we'll have fun of our own, Stan, for now I know that there really is a Santa Claus who answers peoples' Christmas prayers. He brought me back something I've wanted for years, and almost given up hope of ever getting. He brought me back my happiness and you." The Joy of Life A prayer to thee, dearest Father, I ask in humility; Open my eyes to the beauty that is everywhere to see. From the purple shadowed mountains with their rugged crests, snow-capped To the wide stretch of prairie, silver sage in silence wrapt. On the gently rolling meadows filled with daisies, starry-eyed, Hiding 'mong tall waving grasses, like wee foam specks on the tide. Fields full of pale yellow stubbles, trimmed with dainty goldenrod — Close by, blue-grass on the ditch-bank where the blue-eyed asters nod, Starlit skies of summer evenings, shadows of tall waving trees, Brooklets laughing back the starlight, silver ripples in the breeze, On the beauty of the sunrise, when the golden sun's first beams Laughingly wake up the flowers' dew-wet, sleepy eyes, from dreams. Then again, I ask thee, Father, may my ears be tuned to hear All the music that is 'round us — much that I now miss, I fear. Lilting melody of blue-bird, or the cricket's wee, shrill, croon. Or the chugging of the thrasher, through the autumn afternoon, Or the sweet voice of the mother as she sings a lullaby, And her baby's voice in question seems he's always asking "Why?" But the greatest blessing. Father, I have yet to ask of thee, Net great fame, I ask, nor riches, give me boundless charity. May I feel each man my brother, rich and poor or great and small — May I overlook the weakness and see good in each — in all. May I help each as a brother with no thought of self or gain, May I never hurt another, nor by word, or act, cause pain. May my life be rich and happy, happy from, and rich in, love, For an old and true great saying tells, 'We live but as we love!" Stipio. Utah. Nona H. Brown