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trent ae
_ had by no means passed from him altogether.
_proen, and the roses out, and we felt so happy, father.
LIONEL FRANKLIN
'S VICTORY. 25
nino o’clock, he found his daughter sleeping. The’ sight
struck him, and he stood still, looking at her. She looked so
like her mother, but so whito and ill he almost held his breath
to catch the sound of her breathing. Then as he glanced from
her around tho little room, almost for the first time he realized
something of the sad, lonely life she was leading. All the cook-
ing utensils had been tidily put away, the curtains were drawn
across the window, a bunch of holly was hung over the mantel-
shelf, while the fire burning cheerily below threw a bright glow
over all; and there in the midst of it lay the sleeping girl. Rob-
ert had once been a man of sensitive, impulsive feelings, and
though they had been blunted by his late manner of life, they
And she does
it all for me,” was the thought that arose in his mind, as he
looked from his daughter to the tokens of her care, and his cone
science answered him with the bitter question, ‘‘ What did he
for her?”
Alice awoke under this prolonged gaze, and seeming hardly
able to collect her thoughts, looked around her bewildered.
Then catching sight of her father, she held out her hand with
tho bright smile with which she always greeted him.
‘*O father!” she said, ‘‘I was just dreaming of you.”
* He stooped and kissed her; and then as her face flushed with
pleasure at this unusual display of affection, she motioned him
to sit down by her side while she talked to him a little.
“TI dreamed we were back at Edgley,” she continued, ‘and
mother’ was looking like she used to; and the fields were all
Then,
as we were all enjoying it so, it faded and faded away,‘ and this
came instead, and all the noise, and the crying, and the scold-
ing—oh! it seemed such a change! And as we were standing
wondering, the door opened, and Mrs. Raine came in, and she
held out her hands to mother and me, and said we must not stay
here, we should spoil our white dresses; and when we looked
we saw we were clothed in white, and so we followéd her away.
‘We were glad to go where it should be,bright and clean, but we
did not want to leave you; and when she saw we were troubled,
she looked back to where Lennie and Miss Mabel were standing,
and told them to bring you safely after'us. And then I looked
up and saw you, father, and I was so glad to be with you still.”
There was silence as she paused, but she felt that her father
had been listening, so, summoning up her courage,. sho told him
of Miss Raine’s visits, and of her kind Christmas presents. He
was very much. gratified with the coat, though he was not alto-
gether pleased to find that his former master should have be-
come acquainted with his present circumstances. Alice’s words,
however, had aroused his better nature, and a growing convic-
tion, as he looked at her, that. before long she would join that
eweet young mother made him gentle, almost tender with her
that Christmas eve.
* “And, father, I have something to ask you, and you will say
“Yes,’’? she continued.
“Well, birdie,-what is it?” he asked, unable to resist her
pleading face, and the old pet name rising unbidden to his lips.
' “Tt is something I have asked before and you have always
said ‘No,’ but you won’t this time, father; for I don’t think I
shall ever ask again. It is Christmas eve, father, and people al-
ways feel happy then; and there is only one thing I want now—
I have longed for it so often—and that is the little key to unlock
mother’s box.”
He opened his lips to say ‘‘No”; but the tears that had gath-
erod in her bright eyes, the flush on her pale cheeks, and the
eager look with which she waited, stopped him. He seemed to
see the mother’s face in that of the daughter, and a sort of feel-
ing that Edith was really near, watching him, broke his resolu-
tion, and he placed in his child’s hand the key for which she
had pleaded go long. She lifted up her face and kissed him, and
then sank back with such a contented look, he wondered to see
it, They were both silent again for some time. Alice was look-
ing at tho'little key, handling it fondly, and promising herself a
great Christmas treat in opening tho long-closed box; and.moro
than for herself, she rejoiced for Lionel’s sake.
. Her father rose abruptly in a few minutes, and made towards
the door. The movement roused the girl from her thoughts,
and stretching out her hand towards him, she cried:
“Not to-night, O father! you must not go to-night. It is
Christmas eve,” she added, shivering, ‘‘and I can’t be left
alone. I feel so strange, O father!” and the girl sank back in
her chair almost fainting.
Seeing she was really not herself, Franklin turned back, and
lifting her gently into her own room, hoped she would fall
asleep. This she could not do, however; but holding him
tightly by the hand, entreated him to talk to her.
*<Tell me about mother,” she said—‘‘ about the time when we
were happy. I want to forget the in-betweens; and only to
think of what was then, and what will be by and by.” :
Franklin was sadly perplexed. He would have called in Mrs.
Markham had he been able to get at her; but Alice would not
release his hand, and seeing his touch seemed to soothe and
comfort her, he sat still by her side. She talked to herself in
an excited way now and then, and the father learned from those
broken sentences more of the effects of his. own selfish life than
ever he had known before. He saw his own daughter patiently
considering and attending to him in every way—stinting herself
that he might have enough. His own boy, too, whom he had
driven from his home, gave back good for evil, and watched
and waited for him night after night with a sickening hope-
lessness, but an undaunted perseverence. Two bright lives had
been given him to care for; howhad he guarded this treasure?
It was his own figure that threw that deep black shadow that had
darkened their young days, his own selfishness that had kept
them poverty-stricken and’ comfortless, his own sin that had -
broken their mother’s heart and left them worse than orphans.
All this Robert Franklin acknowledged as he watched .for
sleep tocalm and rest his child, and tears trickled down his wan,
colorless cheeks as he thought of Christmas eves in days now
past recalling.. But the taste for drink had too strong hold upon
him still for him to do more than acknowledge his wrong; he
had almost lost the power to make a resolution. So, as the morn-
ing dawned, and Alice fell into a quiet slumber, he yielded to’
the cruel thirst that came over him. ‘‘ Only once more,” he
said to himself, ‘‘and then he would try.” But it was all that, ,
was left to him, all that comforted and did not accuse him; and
with a wild look in his haggard eye he crept out in the cold and
the darkness to that fatal ‘once more” at his ‘old haunt, the
Lion. Already bells were ringing for early service at different
churches in the neighborhood; and passers-by were geeting one
another with friendly wishes, their voices sounding cheerily
through the clear frosty air. But for Robert Franklin there was
no kind wish from any friend, no hand to stay his downward
course; only a cruel agonizing thirst.drawing him on to what in
the end could only prove his death.
So he passed his Christmas day, aud so did thousandsand thou-
sands of his fellow-men. While the message of good-tidings sound-
ed outin the churches and cathedrals of our land, while thousands
listened with willing ears and thankful hearts to the good news,
and returned to their homes bearing with them a sense of that
‘‘ peace” and that ‘* good will,” double, nay, treble the number
spent the day in a vain effort for all they knew of joy, and failing
to find it, turned in hopeless despair to that which, though it
might not satisfy, at all events lulled the restless longing.
“ Tt’s Christmas, and we want to be happy, but we don’t know
how,” was the answer given to a kind passer-by, who, attracted
by a group of dolcful little faces, asked the reason of their sad
looks; and it is that wish ‘‘to be happy” that makes our national
holidays such sad seasons of drunkenness and misery. There is
a longing to make the most of these little respites in the struggle
for existence, a craving for light-heartedness and forjoy; but they