Merry Christmas.


A Christmas Story - The Rifle
By Rian B. Anderson

(Originally posted by Burt Lamborn)

Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their
means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who
were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was
from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not
from receiving.

It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the
world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to
buy me the rifle that I'd wanted so bad that year for Christmas.

We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa
wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible. So after
supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the
fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still
feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood
to read scriptures.

But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up and went outside. I
couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I
didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.

Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in
his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out
tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle
for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no
earthly reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a
night like this.

But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd
told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got
my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the
door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what.
Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was
the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were
going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell.
We never hitched up the big sled unless we were going to haul a big load.

Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up
beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I
was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been
a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but
whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high sideboards on.

When we had exchanged the sideboards Pa went into the woodshed and came
out with an armload of wood---the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down
from the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting.
What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are
you doing?"

" You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen
lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so
before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure,
I'd been by, but so what? "Yeah," I said, "why?"

"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in
the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt."
That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed
for another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high
that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it.

Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke
house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to
me and told me to put them in the sled and wait.

When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder
and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What's in the little
sack?" I asked. ?"Shoes. They're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had
gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be
Christmas without a little candy."

We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried
to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly
standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what
was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into
blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so
we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa
buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this?

Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us. It shouldn't have been our
concern. We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded
the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and
shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice
said, "Who is it?"

"Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?"
Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped
around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were
sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave
off any heat at all.

Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp. "We brought
you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put
the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in
it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time.
There was a pair for her and one for each of the children sturdy shoes,
the best, shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her
lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and
started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to
say something, but it wouldn't come out.

"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said, then he turned to me
and said, "Matt, go bring enough in to last for awhile. Let's get that
fir up to size and heat this place up." I wasn't the same person when I
went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and,
much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind
I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their
mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks and so much
gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak. My heart swelled within
me and a joy filled my soul that I'd never known before. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much
difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people.

I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids
started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow
Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for
a long time. ?She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I
know the Lord himself has sent you. The children and I have been praying
that he would send one of his angels to spare us."

In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled
up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms
before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was
probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the
earth. I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way
for Ma and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.

Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed
when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get.
?Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord
would make sure he got the right sizes. Tears were running down Widow
Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids
in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want
us to go. I could see that they missed their pa, and I was glad that I
still had mine.

At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to
invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The
turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to
get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around
again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the
youngest. My two older brothers and two older sisters were all married
and had moved away.

Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Lucas Miles. I don't have to
say, "'May the Lord bless you,' I know for certain that He will." Out on
the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even
notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said,
"Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a
little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for
you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a
little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and
me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and
I started into town this morning to do just that. But on the way I saw
little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in
those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. So, Son, I spent the
money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you
understand."

I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very
well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Just then the rifle seemed very
low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given
me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children. For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or
split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that
same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much
more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my
life.

--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
* Origin: fsxNet Usenet Gateway (21:1/5)

Excellent. Look forward to this every year... Especially in RMD.

On Sunday, December 23, 2018 at 8:01:21 AM UTC-7, john wrote:

Merry Christmas.

A Christmas Story - The Rifle
By Rian B. Anderson

(Originally posted by Burt Lamborn)

Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their
means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who
were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was
from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not
from receiving.

It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the
world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to
buy me the rifle that I'd wanted so bad that year for Christmas.

We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa
wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible. So after
supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still
feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood
to read scriptures.

But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I
didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.

Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in
his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out
tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle
for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no
earthly reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a
night like this.

But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd
told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got
my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the
door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what.
Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was
the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were
going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell.
We never hitched up the big sled unless we were going to haul a big load.

Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up
beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I
was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been
a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high sideboards on.

When we had exchanged the sideboards Pa went into the woodshed and came
out with an armload of wood---the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down
from the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting.
What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are
you doing?"

" You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen
lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so
before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure,
I'd been by, but so what? "Yeah," I said, "why?"

"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in
the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt."
That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed
for another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high
that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it.

Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke
house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to
me and told me to put them in the sled and wait.

When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder
and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What's in the little sack?" I asked. ?"Shoes. They're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had
gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be
Christmas without a little candy."

We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried
to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly
standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what
was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so
we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this?

Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us. It shouldn't have been our concern. We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded
the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and
shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?"

"Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?"
Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped
around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were
sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave
off any heat at all.

Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp. "We brought
you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put
the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in
it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time.
There was a pair for her and one for each of the children sturdy shoes,
the best, shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her
lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to
say something, but it wouldn't come out.

"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said, then he turned to me
and said, "Matt, go bring enough in to last for awhile. Let's get that
fir up to size and heat this place up." I wasn't the same person when I
went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and,
much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind
I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their
mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks and so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak. My heart swelled within
me and a joy filled my soul that I'd never known before. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much
difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people.

I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids
started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow
Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for
a long time. ?She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I
know the Lord himself has sent you. The children and I have been praying
that he would send one of his angels to spare us."

In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled
up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms
before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was
probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way
for Ma and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.

Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed
when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get.
?Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord
would make sure he got the right sizes. Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids
in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want
us to go. I could see that they missed their pa, and I was glad that I
still had mine.

At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to
invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The
turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to
get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around
again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the
youngest. My two older brothers and two older sisters were all married
and had moved away.

Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Lucas Miles. I don't have to
say, "'May the Lord bless you,' I know for certain that He will." Out on
the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even
notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said,
"Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for
you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and
me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and
I started into town this morning to do just that. But on the way I saw
little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in
those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. So, Son, I spent the
money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand."

I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Just then the rifle seemed very
low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given
me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children. For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that
same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much
more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my
life.

--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
* Origin: fsxNet Usenet Gateway (21:1/5)

On Sunday, December 23, 2018 at 10:01:21 AM UTC-5, john wrote:

Merry Christmas.

A Christmas Story - The Rifle
By Rian B. Anderson

(Originally posted by Burt Lamborn)

Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their
means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who
were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was
from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not
from receiving.

It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the
world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to
buy me the rifle that I'd wanted so bad that year for Christmas.

We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa
wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible. So after
supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still
feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood
to read scriptures.

But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I
didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.

Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in
his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out
tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle
for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no
earthly reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a
night like this.

But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd
told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got
my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the
door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what.
Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was
the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were
going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell.
We never hitched up the big sled unless we were going to haul a big load.

Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up
beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I
was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been
a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high sideboards on.

When we had exchanged the sideboards Pa went into the woodshed and came
out with an armload of wood---the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down
from the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting.
What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are
you doing?"

" You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen
lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so
before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure,
I'd been by, but so what? "Yeah," I said, "why?"

"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in
the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt."
That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed
for another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high
that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it.

Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke
house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to
me and told me to put them in the sled and wait.

When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder
and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What's in the little sack?" I asked. ?"Shoes. They're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had
gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be
Christmas without a little candy."

We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried
to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly
standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what
was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so
we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this?

Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us. It shouldn't have been our concern. We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded
the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and
shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?"

"Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?"
Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped
around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were
sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave
off any heat at all.

Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp. "We brought
you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put
the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in
it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time.
There was a pair for her and one for each of the children sturdy shoes,
the best, shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her
lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to
say something, but it wouldn't come out.

"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said, then he turned to me
and said, "Matt, go bring enough in to last for awhile. Let's get that
fir up to size and heat this place up." I wasn't the same person when I
went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and,
much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind
I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their
mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks and so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak. My heart swelled within
me and a joy filled my soul that I'd never known before. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much
difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people.

I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids
started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow
Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for
a long time. ?She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I
know the Lord himself has sent you. The children and I have been praying
that he would send one of his angels to spare us."

In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled
up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms
before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was
probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way
for Ma and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.

Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed
when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get.
?Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord
would make sure he got the right sizes. Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids
in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want
us to go. I could see that they missed their pa, and I was glad that I
still had mine.

At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to
invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The
turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to
get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around
again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the
youngest. My two older brothers and two older sisters were all married
and had moved away.

Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Lucas Miles. I don't have to
say, "'May the Lord bless you,' I know for certain that He will." Out on
the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even
notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said,
"Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for
you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and
me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and
I started into town this morning to do just that. But on the way I saw
little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in
those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. So, Son, I spent the
money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand."

I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Just then the rifle seemed very
low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given
me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children. For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that
same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much
more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my
life.

Bahumbug! ;)

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