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On Christmas Eve
(Essanay)
By DOROTHY DONNELL
This story was written from the Photoplay of JOHN H. COLLINS
" A nd so Prince Uglyman got his /-\ golden curls and velvet clothes •back from the wicked witch and married the Princess Ladylove; and now, who can finish the story — Peggy or Paul?"
Two guileless and chubby faces turned upward; two pairs of limpid eyes met Grandfather 's ; two infantile voices were lifted with shrill accord.
"An* zay had all 'er auto-mo-biles an' dinner par-ties zay wanted."
"An' free hunnerd servants "
■ ' An' b 'longed to 'er bestest clubs. ' ' "An' so course zay was happy ev 'raf terward. ' '
Grandfather sighed. He was a mild, stoop-shouldered, white-haired old relic stranded by the waters of progress on an alien shore whereon the children and the grown-ups seemed to have exchanged places — the tiniest tots learnt in the sad lore of pricemarks and tradesmen 's bills, and their elders filling their days with teaparties, games and sports. He had tried to make children of his grand
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children with old-time nursery fables and fairy lore, yet even he felt that Red Ridinghood and Goldilocks, to say nothing of iEsop, were sadly out of place in the radiant sophistry of the Morris library.
"Gwanfaver, isn't it 'most C'ris'mas?" sighed Peggy, burrowing her careful curls into his shoulder. "I fought you said it would come pwitty soon. ' '
Paul looked cautiously about the room. In the drawing-room beyond the velvet curtains buzzed the card party, oblivious to everything except the high importance of trump and lead. He applied his rosy mouth to the shriveled old ear.
"Tell us about zat Mr. Santa Claus," he whispered mysteriously.
Grandfather's eyes lighted. Twin twinkles lurked behind his spectacles. This was his trump card — to speak in the language of the drawing-room, and he pinned all his hopes to the old-time children's saint. If he could bring the rosy, jolly, mysterious.