Well its beginning to seem a little like Christmas, now. Getting ready for Christmas is more fun than the realization. Wordsworth – I think it was Wordsworth – has written a poem on this – where his wife wanted to go to Yarrow but he would never go, and when once by refusing he hurt her, he explained that it was better to look forward to going some time than realizing it right away. I suppose I have mis quoted him, but I got his idea – anticipation is better than realization. Buying presents, conscientiously, is a real pleasure. Those who by something “to get it over with” don’t know the real fun of Christmas. And we all like to wonder and speculate as to what is in every mysterious package brought home – such a bustling and whispering as there is and crackling of paper –- how wild we are to know! This year is especially fun for us, for we are going to have a tree and are trying to keep it a secret from Mama and Fred, who had a plum pudding last year as a secret.
This evening when I was coming home, I ran across Joe and Frances, who were out shopping for things for the tree, so I went along to give some substantial (?) advice. We had lots of fun, selecting the baubles we wanted most, and making the proprietors show us exactly how various toys were run!! We hustled in the packages and hid them in the wardrobe. After supper we started to make candy–boxes for the tree – Frances told Mother that she was making them for Merle Ward, who lives on Vine St. Presently Bill came. We came into the hall to talk. Someone mentioned Merle Schnurrenberger, and Frances said
“Oh Merle – her mouth hangs open anyway!”
This seemed to strike Bill’s sense of humor, for he sat weakly on the stairs and laughed until tears came. We all laughed too – part in sympathy. Finally, when he could, he said:
“Let’s go over to Sixth St, Charlie.”
“What for?”
“No sir; you boys have to help me make some things” objected Frances.
“No do you?” laughed Bill “Let’s go over and see if there’s any coasting. And then come right back”
“All-right” I said going for my coat and hat
“You boys are rump-head ronyons” said Frances as we went out.
“Rump-head ronyons” cried Bill “rump-head. You are a ronyon”
“Well I don’t go out to see Merle Schnurrenberger anyway”
“I don’t either. Her mouth hangs open!”
“So does yours!”
Coasting was fine and there were three or four big bobsleds, which laden with shouting boys and girls, sped down the hill. The hill is not a very big one, or very steep but it is almost as good a one as there is in Salem, besides being paved and conveniently situated. As the sleds whizzed past us, we were possessed with a strange desire to slide ourselves, but we didn’t know any of the sliders well enough, and we had no bobsled of our own.
“Darn it” said Bill “I wish we had a bobby”
“Here too” I replied, “Gee but it’s good to-night. Look how shiny the track is.”
“King’s got one, but it’s too late now to go out.”
“Yes. Let’s go to-morrow night – oh we’re going out to the Richies aren’t we?”
“Yes I guess so. To play five hundred.”
“Well then Friday night or Thursday”
“There’s no use hanging around here any longer.”
We went home and helped Frances make the candy boxes; some we made pyramid-shaped and others triangle-shaped. It was funny to see Fred, making boxes for a tree which he knew nothing about. Once when Frances was upstairs Bill smeared library-paste all over the handle of the brush she was using.
Gradually our talk drifted to having a class play, which we are trying to have. We are both much interested in it, and hope to get to be a character.
“Day makes me tired” said Bill vehemently
“Why?” asked Frances amazed.
We had asked Day to have a class-meeting to see if they wanted a play and he kept putting it off.
“Why he won’t call a meeting” Bill replied.
“What do you want a meeting for?”
“To decide for a class-play” I put in.
“Well I never liked that Day, as you call him” said Mama.
“Here either” Frances rejoined “don’t see what you ever got him in your Kabal for”
“Heavens,” said Joe “I don’t either. He thinks he’s so flamed smart”
“Ye-es” said Bill “and he’s always moralizing or working Math, wherever he goes”
“Why don’t you kick him out” Joe suggested
“Can’t very well” I replied “we asked him in”
“Well, he makes me tired about this class-play” Bill said “all his holding back for is because he don’t want Miss Richards in it.”
“He wants the class to run it, because then he’d be at the head” I added.
“Do you have that thing for a president” asked Joe.
“Yes” answered Bill “and we all voted for him two or three times. Dutch Leonard voted five time, I saw him.”
“Well you are ronyons” cried Frances.
“I know what we can do” said Bill suddenly “we can get him tomorrow noon and tell him what we think of him and either make him have a class-meeting or make him sore enough at us so he’ll get out of the Kabal.”
“Good idea” I affirmed “I don’t care if he does get sore at us.”
“Here either” was his reply.
Charles E. Burchfield, Monday Dec. 12, 1910