A perfect Christmas on the old place

I gained new respect in her eyes when I showed her how to open the body and find hidden morsels of lobster, although I instantly regretted doing so, as she would otherwise have passed it to me for excavation. She behaved like a perfect lady, however, and I realized that my efforts at discipline are actually paying off. She only rolled her eyes at me once.

The Mersey Hotel was decorated nicely for the season. The hotel has been a grand asset to the town since its opening four years ago, and P.F. Butler, the proprietor, was kind enough to show us some of its features. It has those new electric lights, something that I doubt we will ever see at the old place. It also has telephones, one for each room, a situation that the oldest girl found amazing.

I told Mr. Butler, after settling our account for the meal that the Mersey Hotel Butler prefers to call it the Hotel Mersey, as it sounds French and was very likely the finest hotel, with the finest dining room, in the entire province. That is as it should be, as Liverpool is practically the busiest town this side of Halifax, especially now that the railway has come.

We had our traditional Christmas Eve, with the wife and the children decorating the tree, and me by the fire with a mug of cider offering suggestions as to placement of ornaments. When it came time for me to affix the star to the top of the tree, I did it with a flourish, and the cheers and clapping were, it seemed to me, genuine.

We even lit the candles on the tree for a short time just before bed, the youngest girl saying, with tears in her eyes, that it was the prettiest tree she had ever seen.

Early on Christmas day, instead of having the wife go down and make the fires, I did it myself, telling her it was a special day. When things were warming up, with the parlor stove crackling away, I filled the stockings, even that of the oldest girl, who still hangs hers with the rest.

The day before, the wife and I had taken the mare and had gone to The Corner, where we purchased things for the children's stockings. The N.F. Douglas store had brought in some exceptional confectionery, so we bought little bags of hard candy for each. We also bought some raisins, and to put in the toe of each stocking, an orange. The children love oranges, and it is only at Christmas that they ever get them.

I will say that we had had a good year, with a small surplus, and we therefore also bought a gift for each stocking. The store had stocked some Horsman dolls, which the wife said was America's favourite doll. We picked a small "People's Doll" for the youngest girl. For the boy, we saw one of those Lionel trains that have been made since 1901, but they are too costly, so we settled on a set of Tiedler's Winks, which is a game played with little smooth disks called winks, the idea being to pop them into a cup.

The oldest girl was more difficult. After I had given her Pink Pills for Pale People a couple of years ago, the wife has taken over the buying of her gifts. She was looking at an Acme waist, with lace and baby ribbons, but I said I had allowed her to buy an undergarment in Liverpool, to which the wife looked at me with surprise. It was odd that the oldest girl hadn't told her, but since the wife didn't know what it was, she finally decided on a nice leather-covered day journal, as the oldest girl is always writing.

With the fires lit and the house warming up, I called the wife and children to come downstairs. There was much excitement as the stockings were dismantled, the children all appreciating that which they received. After a magnificent breakfast, prepared by the wife and the two girls while the boy and I played winks, we opened the gifts under the tree.

I think I will leave it there, save to say that the books were an unqualified success. When the oldest girl opened Anne of Green Gables, the others begged to read it when she was finished, although I cannot understand how a book about an orphan girl has sold so many copies since first being published a few short months ago.

For a time there was peace in the land, as the members of the family perched in chairs around the stove, lost in their own worlds. I went out to the barn to talk to the horse.

Thomas W. L. Sheppard, Esq., can be contacted at the old Benjamin Annis place, Hibernia.