d so much to do that day
that I was completely bewildered, and the hours weren't half long
enough. I did make a few social calls, but then I hurried them over; and
then hastened to my little girl, whose face had already caught a touch
of color; and she, looking quite handsome in her new frock and her
ribbons, took me to other poor folk, and--well, that's about the whole
story.

"Oh, as to the next Christmas. Well, I didn't dine alone, as you may
guess. It was up three stairs, that's true, and there was none of that
elegance that marked the dinner of the year before; but it was merry,
and happy, and bright; it was a generous, honest, hearty, Christmas
dinner, that it was, although I do wish the widow hadn't talked so much
about the mysterious way a turkey had been left at her door the night
before. And Molly--that's the little girl--and I had a rousing appetite.
We went to church early; then we had been down to the Five Points to
carry the poor outcasts there something for their Christmas dinner; in
fact, we had done wonders of work, and Molly was in high spirits, and so
the Christmas dinner was a great success.

"Dear me, sir, no! Just as you say. Holidays are not in the least
wearisome any more. Plague on it! When a man tells me now that he hates
holidays, I find myself getting very wroth. I pin him by the button-hole
at once, and tell him my experience. The fact is, if I were at dinner on
a holiday, and anybody should ask me for a sentiment, I should say, God
bless all holidays!"

* * * * *

SANTA CLAUS AT SIMPSON'S BAR

BRET HARTE

It was nearly midnight when the festivities were interrupted. "Hush!"
said Dick Bullen, holding up his hand. It was the querulous voice of
Johnny from his adjacent closet: "Oh, dad!"

The Old Man arose hurriedly and disappeared in the closet. Presently he
reappeared. "His rheumatiz is coming on agin bad," he explained, "and he
wants rubbin'." He lifted the demijohn of whiskey from the table and
shook it. It was empty. Dick Bullen put down his tin cup with an
embarrassed laugh. So did the others. The Old Man examined their
contents, and said hopefully, "I reckon that's enough; he don't need
much. You hold on, all o' you, for a spell, and I'll be back;" and
vanished in the closet with an old flannel shirt and the whiskey. The
door closed but imperfectly, and the following dialogue was distinctly
audible:--

"Now, sonny, whar does she ache worst?"