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I c ti A j ST °r é ^ '..'vN^jRE/COWAN J^p 1 |V-\ST<W/ S The voices of the boy choir rose above the rich roll of the organ as John opened the door and slipped into into the warm, shadowy depths of the church---piercing high and sweet: O Holy night! The stars are brightly shining™ What was it the music made him think of ? Of course--the, buoyant flight of a bfeath-taiciiigly beautiful silver plane, lifting, dipping, soaring. And nothing could be more beautiful beautiful than that. It was cozy and pleasant to sit here making pictures in your mind. But that wasn't, the only reason John liked to come. He liked the music. What was more, he thought a. little guiltily, he -liked it because it was Christmas music. Of course he knew now that it was nothing but a bourgeois fairy story-- about the little Lord Jesus and the Star and the strange magnificent kings with their rich gifts of gems and myrrh and frankincense. Anton had explained all that to him. If Anton knew he came here he would be hurt and angry, even though he only slipped in after delivering his papers for a warm place to stay till Anton .came from the lunch room where he waited table from early morning till five. Anton disliked all churches with a bitterness that John only vaguely understood, but which, out of his adoration for this moody, tempestuous, but to him always gen- 'Ox big brother, he loyally tried to simulate. For this particular church, Anton had a specially contemptuous name. He called it "old Spencer Morrow's Morrow's fire escape." When John asked him why, Anton's mouth twisted in that bitter, angry way it had lately as he replied, "Because "Because the old pirate is fool enough to imagine the fortune he put. into building that monument to superstition superstition will save the mean, grasping little thing he calls his soul from the mythical placp he calls hell." When He Played The Violin John hadn't asked any more questions, questions, because if Anton got too much excited he would go on talking for hours instead of taking out his violin, violin, tucking it tenderly under his chin, and playing there in their little room as only Anton could play. And Anton must keep up his practice, practice, because any day someone might send for him again to come and play, as they used to do before hard times. Then Anton would get out thé black suit with tails he kept so carefully packed away, and his white shirt, and go off down the street, his slim, beautiful fingers caressing the instrument instrument under his arm, Sometimes he took John with him. On such occasions, John would have to hold his breath and grip the seat tightly to keep from bursting with excitement when Anton came forward--lithe and dark and hand- gome--lifted his head, and began to ' play, his face a little pale, his danc eyes alight, as if above the heads of the audience he were seeing things strange and beautiful beyond tne ordinary ordinary ken. , . , When Anton played his violin, violin, he seemed to forget all about "monuments to superstition" and even "the totalitarian state." It was only since Anton had had to work in the lunch room instead of playing that he had been so;restless so;restless and bitter. It had all been very different .two years ago, while Mother was still alive. Then, on Christmas Eve, there would be wreaths in the windows, and candles everywhere; and when Anton came in from playing somewhere--a somewhere--a little pale, and with that wide, shining look his dark eyes always always wore when he had played and played well, of having come slowly back from far places of enchantment --there would be cries of "Merry Christmas," and surprises for everyone- everyone- Afterward, Anton would play Christmas music--ending always with "O Holy Night!" For a moment John remembered it all--the brightness, the warmth, the spicy evergreen smells, the music-- and the surprises--with a wistful nostalgia which brought to his eyes tears he angrily wiped away on his worn coat sleeves. No Surprise Expected Well, there wouldn't be any surprises surprises this year. Last year he had bought Anton a surprise with some of his paper mon-, ey---a truly splendid scarf pin in the shape of a tiny violin. That was when Anton had explained to him for the first time about the proletariat, proletariat, and. had talked about the necessity necessity for "class loyalty," and the gross absurdity of "bourgeois sentimentality" sentimentality" about religion and Christmas. Christmas. No, John did not think he would try surprising Anton again this year. And he knew this time that there would be no surprise cor him, either. So He had made his own plan. It would hot be quite the same as being being surprised, of course. It would lack that breath-taking moment • of almost unendurable happiness and suspense that came just before the gift was actually unwrapped. But the plan had its points. The money he had managed to save from hi-s paper route would buy the tools he needed to finish the model airplane He had been working on since last summer. It would be the most beautiful model ever built, and it would really fly. His fingers--no less magically supple and sensitive in their own way than Anton's, though John did not know this--itched to be at it- He would wait till the day before Christmas, carry his parcel home, and put it away unopened until Christmas Eve. Then, when Anton had gone, he would get it out and open it just as if it had been a real surprise. He was still planning happily happily and jingling his money in his pocket as he left the church, and turned through the park, when he saw the old man again. Park Bench Sitters The old man was sitting huddled on one of the iron benches in the park. His hat had slid off, the book ho inevitably carried had slid from, his grasp to the dead leaves at his feet, and his head drooped on his breast, its silky white hair fluttering in the faint breeze. John saw that he was asleep again. It was the old man's deplorable habit of dropping to sleep at the most inopportune inopportune times that had first caught John's attention. Park benches, John knew from shrewd observation, were not spots to sleep-on with impunity. Yet the first time he had come upon the old man he had been serenely nodding white a ratlike youth expertly rifled his pockets. At the sound of John's feet on the gravel, the old man had awakened with startling suddenness, and ' the pickpocket had fled. John was just about to lift a shrill cry for Larry,, the park cop, when the - old man caught his arm with a swift dart of a thin old hand and said, "Hey, son, let him go! He's welcome to anything he found in my -pockets. Don't bring that: confounded officer over here asking questions, Can't a man shut his eyes in peace for a minute without without getting mixed up with the law.?": John considered tins wisely. Child of the street as he had been these two years,: it,was not strange to iris philosophy that park bench sitters often shrank modestly from the attention attention of Larry. It did seem a little strange that such a clean, guileless looking old gentleman should be at odds with the law, but you never coud tell. A Situation Grasped His suspicions were still further confirmed by an incident that occurred occurred while he was talking with the old man several days later. They were sitting together when, in the midst of a sentence, the old man glanced over his shoulder, started, started, scrambled to his feet, and with a finger warningly at his lips, scurried scurried into the bushes that flanked the bench. A man was hurrying down the walk from the avenue, looking sharply sharply from left to right, John made his eyes very blank as the man appro-'bed. appro-'bed. "Have you," asked the man, "seen an old gentleman about here? He'd been wearing a gray overcoat and carrying a book." "Sure, Mack. 'Bout 20 minutes ago. He took the Seventy-Three car, going south," John lied hardily. "Have you--does he come here often?" often?" "Naw," said John. "And I'm around here every day s'ellin* my papers. He was--was just walkin' by." When the man had disappeared, the old gentleman emerged cautiously cautiously from the bushes. . "Well," he said, and there was a friendly twinkle in his old blue eyes, "I guess we disposed of that busybody. busybody. Son, you. show an aptness at grasping a situation and a finesse in action that should take you far." "Don't Believe. In Christmas" Now, when John saw the nodding old figure on the bench, he felt a troubled sense of responsibility, as he so often did in the case of Anton. "Say, listen, Cramps," he began as the old man started awake at his touch, blinked, and smiled up at him a little vaguely, "ain't I told you it ain't safe to go to sleep here ? Look what happened the first time. Anyhow, Anyhow, it's too cold." It was indeed cold. The first real frost of a late season was in the air and a few feathery flakes of snow were drifting down ■ , "Say," offered John, moving a step nearer, "I know a good place if you want one. It's warm in that church over there. I'll bet you could slip in and stay, and nobody would ever know. There are cushions too, and sometimes there's music." "Ah!" said Cramps, and turned ta view the church with sudden interest, "Now that's an idea! Put old Morrow's Morrow's fire escape to a practical purpose, purpose, eh? Good joke on him!" For by this time, of course, the old man knew all about Anton and the international brotherhood of man. As John turned away, Cramps hastily hastily added, as if he could not bear to bo left alone, "Hey! You're not going, are you?" John hesitated, jingling his money. "You sound like' a bloated capitalist," capitalist," observed Cramps. "Most five dollars," admitted John with a glow of pride. "And it will be five by to-morrow night." "Imagine having that much money in one pocket," Grelnps sighed. "I wonder if I'll ever feel that rich again. And I suppose you're planning to spend it all for Christmas presents." presents." "Heck! We don't believe in Christmas Christmas at our house." John tried to speak with a calm superiority, as a good comrade should; but he choked up a little over the words. Has To Be . Shared "No Christmas -- but of course! The observation of the Christinas myth is the lowest form of bourgeois bourgeois sentimentality, isn't it? And yet, Unless my memory fails me, Christ was a carpenter, and He also believed in the brotherhood of man," John considered this in startled silence. He wondered if Anton knew that ■ "Then, what, if you'll, forgive my curiosity 1 ," asked Cramps, "arc you going to do with all that wealth?" So John told him, a little reluctantly, reluctantly, about the tools. The old man listened listened attentively. They had often talked talked of the model before. Cramps knew a lot about planes, for an did man. "No doubt your decision is a : sensible sensible one," Cramps said slowly when he hadrifirhhed. His voice '-sounded suddenly tirc-.l and fiat. "Certainly there's no bourgeois sentimentality-, about it. Your brother should 'be proud, of you--and after all, not believing believing in Christmas can't be a more forlorn business thÿn not having anyone who really cares 'for you to share it .with. To be really happy, Christmas has to be shared. . , . Well, I must be getting along, and ---" he smiled a wry little smile---"I think I shall take your very -practical advice." John watched him as he made his way a little stiffly across the park to the church, one of his shabby old books clutched under his arm, looking looking very old and tired and lonely. In A Back Pew John found Anton already at home, anxiçüaly inspecting the fine black suit with tails that had hung so long unused. At last, it seemed, Anton was going out to play his violin again. A note had come to the restaurant restaurant that day. It was to be at someone's house, on. Christmas Eve, and he was to have $50.for it. Anton was so happy that he was almost incoherent. incoherent. The next day was clear and bright; bub a heavy snow mantled the ground and the trees bore nodding white plumes. It was too cold to linger in the park, but when John slipped into the church, he saw the old man, sitting sitting there in a back pew, listening to the music, John was glad they hadn't thrown him out. He looked so sad, however, as if he were thinking unhappy thoughts deep within himself, that John did not approach him, but slipped slipped out again into the snow. And as; he went, his band involuntarily clutched at the precious money in . his pocket as if -he felt it slipping; away from him. For somehow, as he remembered that quiet old figure in the church, disturbing echoes of words crowded in upon him: - "Christmas can't be happy unless it's shared," And the old man had no one who cared, to share Christmas with him. That meant that there would be no surprise surprise for Cramps, either. And probably probably Cramps still liked surprises as well as anyone. Gay Parcel John fingered the money in his pocket and swallowed a monumental lump ; in his throat.. Well, suppose he did . buy the old man a surprise, what should he chodse ? How could he possibly guess s&ji-----------------.-- what Cramps really- wanted, unless-- but of course! A new book, a beautiful beautiful new book, so that he needn't carry around those shabby old ones any more. John didn't know much about books, but after he had wandered about the book store, looking at covers covers until he was dizzy, he saw just the thing--a fine big book, richly bound in soft reddish leather with gold letters• "That one," he said, pointing. It was expensive--$5, the salesgirl pointed out. He could get the same book in a different binding, much cheaper. "That one,".said John firmly, and hurried out with the wrapped book Under his arm before he should change hi a mind. He went directly back to the church because he was afraid , he might miss Cramps if he waited till tomorrow. Fortunately the old man was still there, his ■ white head dropped dropped on his chest. He woke instantly when John touched his shoulder. "This is for you," said John, holding holding Out his- parcel, a- little breathless with hurry and embarrassment. "B.iiÿ ' it's a surprise,. and you musn'E open it till Christmas Eve." For a moment; Cramps looked up at him as if hardly believing his ears. Then he took the parcel with the gay red and green ribbon the lady had wrapped it, in, and looked at it. "Thank you," he said at last. "Thank you. I--this is a surprise. You have made me very happy. I-~I ..«onder if you will do something to make an old man even happier -- spend a part of torhorow evening 'with me. We -- we might have a r.iuu k to eat and manege a very pleasant pleasant time of it together " "It's Christmas Eyfc" •Anton had already gone when John went out next, evening. John was surprised surprised when he found that the house at the address Cramps had given was so large and imposing. Cramps couldn't really live here. But perhaps he was a janitor or something and lived behind. John rang the bell. It was some time before anyone answered. John was about to go away when the door opened and a man turned on an overhead light and said, "Oh, yes, You are to come right in." John, who had a street Arab's trained memory for faces, stared. But this was the man Cramps bad run away from in the park. Then, right behind the man, was Cramps himself, smiling and holding out his hand. "Oh, but, sir," cried the man, turning turning reproachingly, "you shouldn't be out here exposing yourself to the night air," "Don't be an old maid, Hodges. It's Christmas Eve." Cramps didn't seem to be at all afraid now. "Aren't you satisfied with, hounding me all the year long? Come in, comrade." They went through a warm hallway hallway into a ■ great bright room where men were sitting and standing about. At once John felt at tome, for they were all shabby men such as he had often seen lined up optai de soup kitchens kitchens or employment agencies--men of all nationalities and complexions, but all Strangely alike in their sullen, beaten look. Now .they didn't look sullen or beaten, only expectant, and a little watchful perhaps. In a fevv minutes there was dinner for everyone--an amazing dinner-- with Gramp.s, in a rather rumpled suit, at the head of the long table, and to John's complete undoing. Anton, Anton, of all people, sitting at his right. After everyone had eaten enormously, enormously, they went into another great room, and there were surprises for cveryonv from a tall, softly lighted tree. John had to pinch himself to believe that his own surprise was a set of delicate tools such as he had wanted with a longing that hurt, but finer than he had ever hoped to have. The Great Surprise Finally Cramps, whom everyone was calling "Mr. Morrow," took down the last parcel---square and bulky - and said, "Now this is my great surprise," surprise," John recognized it by the ribbon. It was the book. His heart sank; for there were rows and rows of books about the room---some Oven more shabby,.than the one Cramps had carried, in a special case, carefully locked up. And he had given the old man a book. But Cramps' hand was on John's shoulder, and Cramps was saying heartily,: "Whÿ, I never in i my life had one as fine as this!" For the first time John remembered remembered that in his haste yesterday he hadn't even looked at the title, Now he craned his Meek to read it. The book was called "The Holy Bible." Then everyone sat down, and Anton tucked his violin under .ris c"riri" and played--German music, ri.ali.an music, Russian, Polish, an E a; n sari an 'riuairi' Irish hive song - something for every obi' Avid as ris played, the faces--P.olisi.:-;,, Irish. : . sS ian, German, and Hungarian were no longer even watchful but soft said kind, of shining, When Anton had played a long time, he stopped and said to the old man, "Now I think we'll have a little real'Christmas music." He looked at John , for a moment, and Anton's face, too, was soft and all shining as he began to play "0 Holy Night!" Smallest - Churches Accommodate Six A church in Guernsey, Channel Islands, has accommodation for six people, and is claimed to be the smallest in the world. It was built I by a monk from stones, sea-shells, and home-made, cement. But it has; some strong rivals. Hedge End Church, in Hampshire, Eng., holds only eight people and was built vas: a form of memorial to those who fell in the Great War. Hackney; London, has a church, attached to some ; almhoüsès, which can only accommodate a congregation congregation of 14; while the village of Grove in Buckinghamshire, has a church built for the benefit of the 16 inhabitants. inhabitants. At Eldon, Hants, which has only nine inhabitants, the church has but one door, and, it is claimed, the smallest font in England.