Download the full version of the ebook at ebookname.

com

Frommer s Santa Fe Taos Albuquerque 2006 Frommer s

Complete 11th Edition Lesley S. King

https://ebookname.com/product/frommer-s-santa-fe-taos-
albuquerque-2006-frommer-s-complete-11th-edition-lesley-s-
king/

OR CLICK BUTTON

DOWNLOAD EBOOK

Download more ebook instantly today at https://ebookname.com

Instant digital products (PDF, ePub, MOBI) available
Download now and explore formats that suit you...

Frommer s New Mexico Frommer s Complete 10th Edition

Lesley S. King

https://ebookname.com/product/frommer-s-new-mexico-frommer-s-
complete-10th-edition-lesley-s-king/

ebookname.com

Frommer s California 2006 Frommer s Complete Harry Basch

https://ebookname.com/product/frommer-s-california-2006-frommer-s-
complete-harry-basch/

ebookname.com

Frommer s Spain 2006 Frommer s Complete Darwin Porter

https://ebookname.com/product/frommer-s-spain-2006-frommer-s-complete-
darwin-porter/

ebookname.com

Medical Meanings A Glossary of Word Origins 2nd Edition

William S. Haubrich

https://ebookname.com/product/medical-meanings-a-glossary-of-word-
origins-2nd-edition-william-s-haubrich/

ebookname.com
Thomas White and the Blackloists Stefania Tutino

https://ebookname.com/product/thomas-white-and-the-blackloists-
stefania-tutino/

ebookname.com

Foragers Farmers and Fossil Fuels How Human Values Evolve

The University Center for Human Values 41 Second Updated
Edition Ian Morris
https://ebookname.com/product/foragers-farmers-and-fossil-fuels-how-
human-values-evolve-the-university-center-for-human-values-41-second-
updated-edition-ian-morris/
ebookname.com

Theory and Applications of Nonparenteral Nanomedicines 1st

Edition Prashant Kesharwani (Editor)

https://ebookname.com/product/theory-and-applications-of-
nonparenteral-nanomedicines-1st-edition-prashant-kesharwani-editor/

ebookname.com

Labor Markets and Firm Benefit Policies in Japan and the

United States National Bureau of Economic Research
Conference Report 1st Edition Seiritsu Ogura
https://ebookname.com/product/labor-markets-and-firm-benefit-policies-
in-japan-and-the-united-states-national-bureau-of-economic-research-
conference-report-1st-edition-seiritsu-ogura/
ebookname.com

Joy of Cooking All About Party Foods Drinks 1st Edition

Irma S. Rombauer

https://ebookname.com/product/joy-of-cooking-all-about-party-foods-
drinks-1st-edition-irma-s-rombauer/

ebookname.com
Voluntary Programs A Club Theory Perspective 1st Edition
Matthew Potoski

https://ebookname.com/product/voluntary-programs-a-club-theory-
perspective-1st-edition-matthew-potoski/

ebookname.com
 Santa Fe, Taos
& Albuquerque
11th Edition

by Lesley S. King

Here’s what the critics say about Frommer’s:

“Amazingly easy to use. Very portable, very complete.”
—Booklist

“Detailed, accurate, and easy-to-read information for all price ranges.”

—Glamour Magazine

“Hotel information is close to encyclopedic.”

—Des Moines Sunday Register

“Frommer’s Guides have a way of giving you a real feel for a place.”
—Knight Ridder Newspapers
 Santa Fe, Taos
& Albuquerque
11th Edition

by Lesley S. King

Here’s what the critics say about Frommer’s:

“Amazingly easy to use. Very portable, very complete.”
—Booklist

“Detailed, accurate, and easy-to-read information for all price ranges.”

—Glamour Magazine

“Hotel information is close to encyclopedic.”

—Des Moines Sunday Register

“Frommer’s Guides have a way of giving you a real feel for a place.”
—Knight Ridder Newspapers
About the Author
Lesley S. King grew up on a ranch in northern New Mexico. She’s a freelance writer and
photographer, and a columnist for New Mexico magazine. Formerly managing editor for
The Santa Fean, she has written for The New York Times, United Airline’s Hemispheres
magazine, and Audubon, among other publications. She is the author of Frommer’s New
Mexico, Frommer’s Great Outdoor Guide to Arizona & New Mexico, and New Mexico For
Dummies. She’s also the coauthor of Frommer’s American Southwest. Due for release in
2007 are two new books, King of the Road and The Santa Fe Farmers Market Cookbook.
Kathleen Raphael helped research this book.
Published by:

Wiley Publishing, Inc.

111 River St.
Hoboken, NJ 07030-5774
Copyright © 2007 Wiley Publishing, Inc., Hoboken, New Jersey. All rights reserved. No
part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in
any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or
otherwise, except as permitted under Sections 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States
Copyright Act, without either the prior written permission of the Publisher, or authoriza-
tion through payment of the appropriate per-copy fee to the Copyright Clearance Center,
222 Rosewood Drive, Danvers, MA 01923, 978/750-8400, fax 978/646-8600. Requests
to the Publisher for permission should be addressed to the Legal Department, Wiley Pub-
lishing, Inc., 10475 Crosspoint Blvd., Indianapolis, IN 46256, 317/572-3447, or online
at http://www.wiley.com/go/permissions.
Wiley and the Wiley Publishing logo are trademarks or registered trademarks of John
Wiley & Sons, Inc. and/or its affiliates. Frommer’s is a trademark or registered trademark
of Arthur Frommer. Used under license. All other trademarks are the property of their
respective owners. Wiley Publishing, Inc. is not associated with any product or vendor
mentioned in this book.
ISBN-13: 978-0-470-04826-9
ISBN-10: 0-470-04826-3
Editor: Jennifer Anmuth
Production Editor: Ian Skinnari
Cartographer: Andrew Murphy
Photo Editor: Richard Fox
Anniversary Logo Design: Richard Pacifico
Production by Wiley Indianapolis Composition Services
For information on our other products and services or to obtain technical support, please
contact our Customer Care Department within the U.S. at 800/762-2974, outside the
U.S. at 317/572-3993 or fax 317/572-4002.
Wiley also publishes its books in a variety of electronic formats. Some content that
appears in print may not be available in electronic formats.
Manufactured in the United States of America
5 4 3 2 1
 Contents
List of Maps vii

What’s New in Northern New Mexico 1

1 The Best of Northern New Mexico 4

1 The Most Unforgettable Northern 4 The Most Unforgettable Dining
New Mexico Experiences . . . . . . . . . .4 Experiences . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .8
2 The Best Splurge Hotels . . . . . . . . . . .6 5 The Best Things to Do for Free . . . . . .8
3 The Best Moderately Priced Hotels . . .7 6 The Best Outdoor Activities . . . . . . . . .9
7 The Best Offbeat Experiences . . . . . .10

2 Planning Your Trip to Northern New Mexico 11

1 Visitor Information . . . . . . . . . . . . . .11 9 The 21st-Century Traveler . . . . . . . . .29
Northern New Mexico: Online Traveler’s Toolbox . . . . . . . . .30
Pre-Departure Checklist . . . . . . . . . .11 10 Getting There . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .30
2 Entry Requirements & Customs . . . . .12 Getting through the Airport . . . . . . .32
3 Money . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .13 11 Packages for the Independent
What Things Cost in Santa Fe . . . . . .14 Traveler . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .33
4 When to Go . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .15 12 Escorted General-Interest Tours . . . . .34
Northern New Mexico Calendar 13 Special-Interest Trips . . . . . . . . . . . . .34
of Events . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .15 14 Getting Around Northern
5 Travel Insurance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .20 New Mexico . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .35
6 Health & Safety . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .22 15 Tips on Accommodations . . . . . . . . .36
Fire, Water, and Golf . . . . . . . . . . . .24 16 Tips on Dining . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .37
7 Specialized Travel Resources . . . . . . .25 17 Recommended Books & Films . . . . . .37
8 Planning Your Trip Online . . . . . . . . .28 Fast Facts: Northern
Frommers.com: The Complete New Mexico . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .39
Travel Resource . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .28

3 Suggested Northern New Mexico Itineraries 46

1 Culture Cruising: Northern 3 Family Time: Northern New Mexico
New Mexico in a Week . . . . . . . . . .46 in a Week for Kids—and
2 Northern New Mexico the Young of Heart . . . . . . . . . . . . . .51
in 2 Weeks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .49 4 Pack Your Gear: An Active Tour
of Northern New Mexico . . . . . . . . .54
iv CONTENTS

4 Getting to Know Santa Fe 57

1 Orientation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .58 Fast Facts: Santa Fe . . . . . . . . . . . . .63
2 Getting Around . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .59

5 Where to Stay in Santa Fe 66

1 Downtown . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .66 3 The South Side . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .77
Family-Friendly Hotels . . . . . . . . . . . .75 4 Bed & Breakfasts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .79
2 The North Side . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .75 5 RV Parks & Campgrounds . . . . . . . . .82

6 Where to Dine in Santa Fe 84

1 Restaurants by Cuisine . . . . . . . . . . .84 3 The North Side . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .102
2 Downtown . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .86 4 The South Side . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .103
Family-Friendly Restaurants . . . . . . .95

7 What to See & Do in Santa Fe 106

1 The Top Attractions . . . . . . . . . . . . .106 Walking Tour 1: The Plaza Area . . .120
Museum Binging . . . . . . . . . . . . . .108 Walking Tour 2: Barrio de Analco
2 More Attractions . . . . . . . . . . . . . .109 & Canyon Road . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .124
Fetishes: Gifts of Power . . . . . . . . .115 5 Organized Tours . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .127
3 Especially for Kids . . . . . . . . . . . . . .119 6 Outdoor Activities . . . . . . . . . . . . . .128
4 Santa Fe Strolls . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .120 Getting Pampered:
The Spa Scene . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .133

8 Santa Fe Shopping 134

1 The Shopping Scene . . . . . . . . . . . .134 Arcade Shopping on the Plaza . . . .138
2 The Top Galleries . . . . . . . . . . . . . .135 Gypsy Time . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .139
3 More Shopping A to Z . . . . . . . . . .138

9 Santa Fe After Dark 143

1 The Performing Arts . . . . . . . . . . . .143 2 The Club & Music Scene . . . . . . . . .147
A Home for the Arts . . . . . . . . . . . .144 3 The Bar Scene . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .147

10 Excursions from Santa Fe 149

1 Exploring the Northern Pueblos . . .149 2 Los Alamos & the Ancient Cliff
The Great Pueblo Revolt . . . . . . . . .153 Dwellings of Bandelier National
Monument . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .154
 CONTENTS v

Inside a Volcano . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .158 4 Pecos National Historic Park . . . . . .166

3 Along the High Road to Taos . . . . .158 5 Chaco Culture National
High on Art . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .160 Historic Park . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .166
Lowriders: Car Art . . . . . . . . . . . . .163 6 Chama: Home of the Cumbres
& Toltec Scenic Railroad . . . . . . . . .168
Georgia O’Keeffe & New Mexico:
A Desert Romance . . . . . . . . . . . . .164

11 Getting to Know Taos 174

1 Orientation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .176 Fast Facts: Taos . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .178
2 Getting Around . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .177

12 Where to Stay in Taos 181

1 The Taos Area . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .181 3 RV Parks & Campgrounds . . . . . . . .194
2 Taos Ski Valley . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .191

13 Where to Dine in Taos 195

1 Restaurants by Cuisine . . . . . . . . . .195 Family-Friendly Restaurants . . . . . .201
2 Expensive . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .196 4 Inexpensive . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .202
3 Moderate . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .199

14 What to See & Do in Taos 205

1 The Top Attractions . . . . . . . . . . . . .205 7 Taos After Dark . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .223
2 More Attractions . . . . . . . . . . . . . .209 The Major Concert &
3 Organized Tours . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .211 Performance Halls . . . . . . . . . . . . .223
4 Skiing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .211 8 Exploring Beyond Taos: A Driving
Tour of the Enchanted Circle . . . . . .225
5 More Outdoor Activities . . . . . . . . .214
Along a Green Shore . . . . . . . . . . .226
Getting Pampered:
The Spa Scene . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .218 Ghosts of Elizabethtown . . . . . . . . .229
6 Shopping . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .219

15 Albuquerque 231
1 Orientation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .231 Family-Friendly Restaurants . . . . . .249
2 Getting Around . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .233 Route 66 Revisited: Rediscovering
Fast Facts: Albuquerque . . . . . . . . .234 New Mexico’s Stretch
of the Mother Road . . . . . . . . . . . .251
3 Where to Stay . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .236
5 What to See & Do . . . . . . . . . . . . .253
Cruising Corrales . . . . . . . . . . . . . .242
Taking Home a Southwest
4 Where to Dine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .243
Kitchen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .259
vi CONTENTS

6 Especially for Kids . . . . . . . . . . . . . .259 10 Albuquerque After Dark . . . . . . . . .269

In Search of Disneyland . . . . . . . . .260 The Major Concert &
7 Outdoor Activities . . . . . . . . . . . . . .261 Performance Halls . . . . . . . . . . . . .270
Getting Pampered: 11 Exploring Nearby Pueblos
The Spa Scene . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .264 & Monuments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .272
8 Spectator Sports . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .264 Traditional Native American
Bread Baking . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .275
9 Shopping . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .265
Sampling Nature’s Nectars . . . . . . .277
A Taste of the Grape . . . . . . . . . . .267

Appendix: Northern New Mexico in Depth 281

1 How New Mexico Was Won— 5 Anthropology 101: Beliefs
And Lost . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .282 & Rituals . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .293
2 Life Today—From Flamenco Danse Macabre . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .294
to Craps . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .285 6 Chiles, Sopaipillas & Other
3 Land of Art . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .289 New Mexican Specialties . . . . . . . .295
4 Architecture: A Rich Melting Pot . . .291 You Say Chili, We Say Chile . . . . . .296

Index 298
General Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .298 Restaurant Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . .307
Accommodations Index . . . . . . . . .306
 List of Maps

Northern New Mexico 5 Walking Tour 2: Barrio de Analco &

Northern New Mexico in a Week 47 Canyon Road 125
Northern New Mexico in 2 Weeks 50 Indian Pueblos & Ancient
Cultures 151
Northern New Mexico in a Week for
Kids 53 Downtown Taos & Environs 175
An Active Tour of Northern Taos Area Accommodations 183
New Mexico 55 Taos Area Dining 197
Santa Fe Orientation 60 Taos Attractions 207
Downtown Santa Fe Taos & Environs 227
Accommodations 67 Greater Albuquerque 233
Accommodations & Dining on Cerrillos Central Albuquerque
Road 78 Accommodations 237
Downtown Santa Fe Dining 87 Central Albuquerque Dining 245
Greater Santa Fe Dining 105 Central Albuquerque Attractions 255
Downtown Santa Fe Attractions 107 Albuquerque & Environs 273
Greater Santa Fe 110 Spots of Regional Historic Interest 283
Walking Tour 1: The Plaza Area 121
An Invitation to the Reader
In researching this book, we discovered many wonderful places—hotels, restaurants, shops, and
more. We’re sure you’ll find others. Please tell us about them, so we can share the information
with your fellow travelers in upcoming editions. If you were disappointed with a recommenda-
tion, we’d love to know that, too. Please write to:
Frommer’s Santa Fe, Taos & Albuquerque, 11th Edition
Wiley Publishing, Inc. • 111 River St. • Hoboken, NJ 07030-5774

An Additional Note
Please be advised that travel information is subject to change at any time—and this is especially
true of prices. We therefore suggest that you write or call ahead for confirmation when making
your travel plans. The authors, editors, and publisher cannot be held responsible for the experi-
ences of readers while traveling. Your safety is important to us, however, so we encourage you to
stay alert and be aware of your surroundings. Keep a close eye on cameras, purses, and wallets,
all favorite targets of thieves and pickpockets.

Other Great Guides for Your Trip:

Frommer’s New Mexico
Frommer’s American Southwest
Frommer’s National Parks of the American West
Frommer’s Star Ratings, Icons & Abbreviations
Every hotel, restaurant, and attraction listing in this guide has been ranked for quality, value,
service, amenities, and special features using a star-rating system. In country, state, and regional
guides, we also rate towns and regions to help you narrow down your choices and budget your
time accordingly. Hotels and restaurants are rated on a scale of zero (recommended) to three
stars (exceptional). Attractions, shopping, nightlife, towns, and regions are rated according to
the following scale: zero stars (recommended), one star (highly recommended), two stars (very
highly recommended), and three stars (must-see).
In addition to the star-rating system, we also use seven feature icons that point you to the
great deals, in-the-know advice, and unique experiences that separate travelers from tourists.
Throughout the book, look for:

Finds Special finds—those places only insiders know about

Fun Fact Fun facts—details that make travelers more informed and their trips more fun

Kids Best bets for kids and advice for the whole family

Moments Special moments—those experiences that memories are made of

Overrated Places or experiences not worth your time or money

Tips Insider tips—great ways to save time and money

Value Great values—where to get the best deals

The following abbreviations are used for credit cards:

AE American Express DISC Discover V Visa
DC Diners Club MC MasterCard

Frommers.com
Now that you have this guidebook to help you plan a great trip, visit our website at www.
frommers.com for additional travel information on more than 3,500 destinations. We update
the site regularly, to give you instant access to the most current trip-planning information avail-
able. At Frommers.com, you’ll find scoops on the best airfares, lodging rates, and car rental bar-
gains. You can even book your travel online through our reliable travel booking partners. Other
popular features include:
• Online updates of our most popular guidebooks
• Vacation sweepstakes and contest giveaways
• Newsletters highlighting the hottest travel trends
• Online travel message boards with featured travel discussions
 What’s New in Northern
New Mexico
N orthern New Mexico has come by its
“mañana” reputation honestly. Usually
primary colors—and the Abiquiu room,
which showcases photos of that crimson-
change happens . . . tomorrow. But there rock country. See chapter 5.
are some lively additions in the region WHERE TO DINE IN SANTA FE
well worth exploring. Many Santa Feans’ favorite new spot is
GETTING TO KNOW SANTA FE Aquasanta, 451 W. Alameda (& 505/
At this writing, one of the “City Differ- 982-6297). In a cozy hacienda-like
ent”’s landmarks, the Sweeney Conven- atmosphere complete with kiva fireplace,
tion Center, has been razed, with diners feast on fresh, often organic,
construction beginning soon on a larger, inventively prepared food. At lunch, the
more refined space, to be completed in lamb burger rates as one of the city’s best
2007. lunches. Santa Fe’s famed restaurant
WHERE TO STAY IN SANTA FE In Coyote Café, 132 Water St. (& 505/
2006, one of Santa Fe’s most notable 983-1615; www.coyotecafe.com/santafe.
addresses received a major remodel htm), has received a makeover, bringing
including addition of a spa. The newly the elegance of warm earth tones to the
named Eldorado Hotel & Spa, 309 W. space, complimenting its stellar creative
San Francisco St. (& 800/286-6755 or Southwestern menu. Another Santa Fe
505/988-4455; www.eldoradohotel.com) favorite receiving a makeover is Ristra,
has new furnishings, bedding, and decor 548 Agua Fria St. (& 505/982-8608;
in the rooms, and the Nidah Spa offers a www.ristrarestaurant.com). Now more
full range of treatments including their contemporary in its ambience, the food
signature turquoise gemstone therapy. still has an elegant blend of French and
Meanwhile, Santa Fe Budget Inn has also Southwestern flavors. And, the biggest
received a makeover and name change. change to an existing restaurant is the
Now called Santa Fe Sage Inn, 725 Cer- transformation of The Palace to Señor
rillos Rd. (& 866/433-0335 or 505/ Lucky’s at the Palace, 142 W. Palace
982-5952; www.santafesageinn.com), the Ave. (& 505/982-9891; www.senor
rooms have Southwest furnishings, with luckys.com). It now has a festive patio
Aztec-style bedding and whimsical art on and elegant Western interior and serves
the walls. And to announce yet another delectably complex foods by the same
moniker update: the Spencer House chef as the famed Geronimo. Try the
B&B has become AdobeStar Inn, tacos! If you’re looking for a bit of Italy,
222 McKenzie St. & 800/647-0350 or head to Trattoria Nostrani, 304 Johnson
505/988-3024; www.adobestarinn.com). St. (& 505/983-3800; www.trattoria
Under new ownership, the rooms have nostrani.com), a Northern Italian cafe not
taken on Southwestern themes such as far from the plaza. The chefs there visit
an O’Keeffe room—decorated in bright Italy each year to enhance their offerings
2 W H AT S N E W

such as roasted quail with sweet Italian condos at the very base of the mountain
sausage or rack of lamb. Meanwhile, the offer all the luxuries of home. See
chef at notable 315 has opened an Ameri- chapter 12.
can food restaurant that has locals talk- WHERE TO DINE IN TAOS The
ing. The Railyard Restaurant & Saloon, Taos dining scene, always imaginative,
530 S. Guadalupe St. (& 505/989-3300; has a few new notches on its hostess
www.railyardrestaurantandsaloon.com), stand. First, La Folie, 106-B Paseo del
offers tasty steaks and other types of fare Pueblo Norte (& 505/751-7549), offers
as well. The sesame-and-panko-crusted elegant French food in a relaxed urban
tuna is dynamite. On Canyon Road, the environment. Lunch has soups, salads,
new spot to sip beer and watch the world and sandwiches, while dinner offers
pass by is Sol Café, 802 Canyon Rd. stacked creations with delectable accou-
(& 505/989-1949; www.solcafesantafe. trements such as tenderloin with saffron
com). While you’re there, have an Asian polenta. Though it has been in town for
chicken salad or the wild mahimahi with seven years, Caffé Renato, 133 Paseo del
a macadamia crust. See chapter 6. Pueblo Norte (& 505/758-0244; www.
WHAT TO SEE & DO IN SANTA FE johnfarnsworth.com/cafferenato.htm),
The “City Different”’s newest way to has moved to a stellar location just steps
relax is with an Indo-Asian spa treatment from the plaza. The restaurant offers
at Absolute Nirvana Spa, Tea Room & American and Italian fare in a gallery set-
Gardens, 106 Faithway St. (& 505/ ting. The front and back patios are the
983-7942; www.absolutenirvana.com). place to be in summer, eating salads or
The spa has master-level therapists who panini sandwiches or salmon with lemon
use plants, herbs, and spices in their treat- tarragon aioli. Taoseños are bowled over
ments. See p. 133. by Gutiz, 812-B Paseo del Pueblo Norte
EXCURSIONS FROM SANTA FE (& 505/758-1226), a French-Latin fusion
The High Road Marketplace, a co-op spot in a modest space north of town.
gallery off the Santuario de Chimayo plaza Some come for the fresh baked bread with
(& 866/343-5381 or 505/351-1078; brie at breakfast or the pork tenderloin
www.highroadnewmexico.com), offers art with onion confit at lunch. Ice cream
and crafts from all over northern New lovers congregate at Taos Cow, 485 NM
Mexico, with an excellent collection of 150, Arroyo Seco (& 505/776-5640;
devotional crosses. Also along the High www.taoscow.com). Breakfast tacos and
Road to Taos, in a vintage theater in the sandwiches are a prelude to ice cream
village of Peñasco, the Sugar Nymphs made with natural ingredients in flavors
Bistro, 15046 NM 75 (& 505/587- such as cherry ristra or simply good old
0311), serves inventive food such as a pork chocolate. See chapter 13.
tenderloin with chipotle cream sauce. See WHAT TO SEE & DO IN TAOS The
chapter 10. Kit Carson Home and Museum, 113
WHERE TO STAY IN TAOS For bet- Kit Carson Rd. (& 505/758-4613), has
ter or worse, the Taos Ski Valley seems to become a whole different museum from
be condo-izing. Last year the Edelweiss its predecessor, which closed in 2004. It
made the move. This year the Snakedance now offers a glimpse of the sparseness of
has become Snakedance Condomini- 19th-century frontier-town life.
ums & Spa, 110 Sutton Place (& 800/ WHERE TO STAY IN ALBU-
332-9815 or 505/776-2277; www. QUERQUE The Sheraton Old Town
snakedancecondos.com). These upscale has come under new management and
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
 Sad, suffering, and lorn.

The seraph throng the heavens along

Hymned their divine acclaim;
The Orient three on lowly knee
Bent by the manger fane.

Well worthy was the Royal One

Angelic minstrelsy.
Dull earth took up the praise begun
With holy ecstasy.

The burly log and rugged stone

Were gentle to the Babe;
The manger bare had tender care
Where Jesus Child was laid.

But no one brought with reverent thought

More grateful worship then,
Nor offered there a larger share
Than the rude shepherd men.

And since the night celestial light

Dawned upon Judah’s hills
The holy Babe his home hath made
In humble places still.

And since the herdsmen, angel-sent,

Sought eagerly the town,
No human one, poor and undone,
Hath vainly knelt him down.
The dead silence that followed as Bob returned to his seat was
followed by a hum of surprise. Who was that? That Bob Jerrold? Was
it possible? The change in the lad when properly dressed was itself
surprising. But the full tone and clear voice of the boy, the deep
feeling with which he said each word, all contributed to draw
sympathy about him.
The program was soon over, and the merry bells were jingling on
the starlit Christmas night as Bob trudged homeward. In his hands
he bore some gifts, too, a thing rather new to him. Altogether his
heart was filled with gladness.
A few days later, James and Charlie, two lads from the Sunday
School class, in passing by the humble home of the Jerrolds climbed
the fence to see Bob, who was by the stables, mending a sled. Bob
paused as the unexpected visitors approached, perhaps thinking
they were there to tease him as had been usual.
“Hello, Bob,” called James. “Mending your sled? Can we help you?
How did you break it?”
Of course, there was something said about traps and sports and
skating and coasting. Many confidences were exchanged.
As they were to leave, both visitors suddenly looked
uncomfortable, as tho neither knew what to say. Then James
exclaimed:
“Oh, say, Bob, you haven’t been to Sunday School for a while.”
Bob did not answer.
“Yes,” added Charlie, “the boys thought you spoke fine at the
Christmas festival, and they’d like to have you come back.”
“’Cause,” said James, “Mr. Benson said the Christmas message was
‘Good-will among men,’ and he would like awful well for you to
come, too. He’s a fine teacher, he is. We all like him.”
Bob glanced up suddenly. Mr. Benson had found a tender place in
Bob’s heart, too, and he murmured something to the effect that he
guessed he might come.
Thus Mr. Benson induced the boys to make up with Bob, and as a
result he again entered the Sunday School. And where he had
formerly met with scorn and abuse he now found a growing
friendship, and you may well believe that the good-will of his fellows
means much even to the humblest lad. The Christmas spirit came to
that class and to that school with great blessing, but especially so to
Bob Jerrold. Thus if the Christmas blessing comes truly home to our
hearts, it will mend many a ragged place, and instead among our
boys we shall find the whole cloth of manly-heartedness and
Christian love.
 A Queer Christmas Tree
Again the holiday season had come to the great and turbulent city.
On the streets were hurrying throngs of shoppers. About the hotels
and public houses cheerful-faced people came and went in
unwonted numbers. Even the weariness of long and hard days of
work could not wholly drive away the air of gladness from the busy
clerks in the big department stores and in the little shops. The
butcher, the baker, and the grocer were doing their best to bring
what the good housewife wanted. The big delivery wagon,
overloaded with packages of all sorts, shapes, sizes and suggestions,
rattled busily from house to house. And the little boy caught with
ecstasy the sight of a hobby horse’s heel, and the little girl of the
doll’s nose peering warily out of the paper. How sharp the eyes of
little boys and girls are at Christmas time.
“Is this where Mrs. Asleson lives?”
Thru the narrowly opened door a round, fat, rather homely face
looked out. The man scowled into the dark. Perhaps he was not
cross, but only trying to make out the figure in the dim light of the
hall. A narrow window opposite the stairs let in a few struggling,
very feeble rays. It faced blank up a nearby brick wall. Slowly the
eye made out the figure of a rather young man with a basket on his
arm.
Whether the man scowled or not was settled by his gruff, “Other
door!”
“Thank you, thank you, sir,” answered Frank cheerily. “You’re done
brown as a turkey with Christmas good nature, sir.” He spoke none
too soon as the door banged shut.
Frank Wilson was employed at a grocery store some distance
down the street. His brown eyes flashed merrily as he hurried from
customer to customer, from salt to celery, from potatoes to lemons.
The people liked to trade with him because he was so willing. He
was just delivering a basket at the rear flat on the fourth floor of a
tall tenement. His breath was still coming by jerks from the climb as
he rapped at the “other door.” After a moment of perfect stillness the
lock rattled, the knob turned, and the door opened as a little boy
said:
“Who’s there?”
“Mrs. Asleson live here?”
“Ain’t home.”
“I’ve got a Christmas basket for her.”
At the magic word Christmas the door swung back, and a queer
scene was revealed to the surprised gaze of the grocery boy.
“You all belong to Mrs. Asleson?” asked Frank as he set the basket
on the table and pinched a little youngster. The group drew back.
“Red, black, yellow, brown! Well, well—who’s the canary?” he
continued, as he gave a whistle and looked around at the blinking
youngsters. “Talk about your Indian chief!”
“I belong down stairs, Mister,” said one of the little girls.
The group was remarkable. Even aside from the dirty marks
accumulated with a day of play. The young girl who had spoken was
red-haired. The little tot in kirtles had golden locks, rather almost
white. The other little girl had dark curls. While the two boys,
brown-haired and blue-eyed, were enough alike to look like the
brothers they were, except that the larger had an amount of freckles
such as the younger had not found time to acquire. The four were
the widow’s children.
“Hello!” exclaimed the grocery boy, “what have you got here?”
“Christmas tree,” said Freckles.
“Of all things!” Frank dropped on a chair. A Christmas tree! In a
small-sized tub set on the middle of the floor, full of clothes and
anything that might help support, stood a broom, brush in the air. It
was ornamented with scraps of colored tissue paper, while from the
top stood a bit of candle, burning sweetly and brightly. The girl with
the black curls reached up and put it out, to save candle, no doubt.
And yet Frank felt in no laughing mood for the moment. His heart
was touched, and touched deeply.
“What’s that?” asked Maggie, tallest of the girls, as she pointed to
the basket.
“That? Oh, I guess I’m Santa Claus this time, all right. Is your
mama away?”
“She’s workin’,” vouchsafed the boy, number two for size, and
scared at his own boldness, withdrew behind his sister.
“You don’t say. Where’s your freckles?” asked Frank as he
snatched at the hiding boy. “Well, never mind, time’ll mend that.
You’ll get them. I thought you were all singing?”
“Christmas songs,” was the answer.
“Good. Round the tree? Let’s have another.” And in a moment
Frank with the five children of assorted shades and sizes, and in that
doubtful shade of cleanness children will sometimes put on, was
marching and dancing around the tree, hand in hand. Before they
knew it they were all together singing a Christmas song, and
shouting with glee, all forgetful of the basket. Frank, laughing and
out of breath, had just picked up the smallest child, and they had
begun to march around the room, shouting in chorus, when a loud
sound broke upon their ears.
Bim, bam, boom! How the big cathedral bell sounds out over the
city! Above the noise and clatter of the street, over the passing
crowd, in and out among the tall buildings and little cottages that
snuggle between, up and down the alleys and avenues, the mighty
ringing goes forth. Above the very mist and smoke that bedims the
air rises the tall spire with its heavily buttressed tower. Have you
ever climbed the tall ladders far up into the belfry? Far down below,
the men pull the ropes, and out from the huge latticed windows rolls
forth the volume of sound. Three bells there are that chime out upon
the fading day. So strong are they and vibrant with melody that the
tower trembles. Even the cement walks and asphalt pavements
seem to quiver under the heavy strokes of the bell.
As Frank opened the window the children with him crowded
about. Over the gravelled roofs and dusty housetops came the
welling music. It beat about the trembling stones, rolled in great
billows over the house, searched out every nook and cranny that
promised entrance. About the doors it gathered and quivered as tho
ready to shake them from their hinges. Who could think that thin
glass could have withstood such onslaught.
Bim-m-m! Ba-m-m! Boom! Christmas bells. “What a world of
happiness their harmony foretells.” All silent, entranced with the
splendid music of the cathedral chimes, Frank with the children still
stood before the open window. They had not observed the click of
the door. As they turned about they saw Mrs. Asleson standing in
surprise beside the table. She was just about to exclaim at the
children for leaving the door unbarred when she paused in surprise
at the basket on the table and the stranger standing by the window.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” said Frank. “But I came up here with
that basket. It was ordered from the store by the ladies from the
church down the street, and I forgot myself looking at the children’s
Christmas tree. Besides, ma’am, the chimes are glorious up here on
the fourth floor corner flat. Beg your pardon, ma’am.”
“Basket for me?” exclaimed the widow in pleased surprise. Her
profuse gratitude was interrupted by the welcome of the children
and their eager desire to know the contents of the basket. As he
hurried down the stairs to the work which he had almost forgotten,
Frank felt that it was truly blessed to give.
“If those folks knew how much good they did with that basket,
they’d be happy,” was his comment.
About the table the little ones crowded as mother took out the
packages of necessities as well as of Christmas goodies. Their
exclamations of joy were many. Nor least of all, when a very suitable
gift appeared for each of the little folks, the brown-haired boys, little
tow-head, and sister with the dusky curls. And each little heart felt
that they had not sung in vain about the broom as a Christmas tree;
but that the Lord Christ had known to bless the faith of a little child.
And a prayer of fervent thanksgiving arose, as the good mother saw
joy shine in the forlorn home of the widow on that night, all because
a kindly heart had gone forth in sympathy to her loneliness and her
need.
 Bigbeard and Little Sander
“Christmas ain’t nothin’ ’out snow!”
Sander was a trifle too scornful in his tone. Now do not
misunderstand him. For Sander, you see, was a lad eight years of
age. And this was the first time he had seen bare earth so late in the
winter. At least he thought so. But you will admit that his experience
was limited. Besides, today was his birthday, and Christmas Eve too.
Very poor birthday it promised to be, for Mama and Papa were just
getting ready to drive off on a long journey to town.
For you must not imagine that this little man lives in some fine
large house on the avenue or in some tall flat building in the city!
Early last spring he had slipped off the train at a most forlorn little
station far up in the frontier. As his eyes looked out that morning
over the bare prairie, broken only by the rolling hills, with a
struggling tree to be seen here and there, he jumped and frisked.
The sun was just coming up, and the light glistened on the dewy
grass. What little boy would not have enjoyed the long ride “over
hills, over dale,” until they reached the clump of trees on a level spot
by the river; Antelope it was called. This name the Indians had very
probably given it long ago. Probably, too, they had encamped on this
very spot; for who knows when the bubbling spring just below the
hollow had begun to flow, and to draw to its freshness both man
and beast. There was charm in the very word Indian, to say the
least.
And now the summer was gone. At first they had lived in a tent.
When Sander awoke in the morning, if it were quiet enough, he
could hear the little birds hopping on the canvas roof. For a while
there was hammering and building. Then the sod was cut from a
grassy place down by the river, and what with the earth-wall without
and the white-wash within they had a cozy dwelling. The vegetables
and such crops as they had raised were gathered. The horses and
the two cows were stabled. The days passed merrily and busily.
There were many new things to see and learn and try. And already
winter was here, Christmas Eve, really. And Papa and Mama were
just climbing into the wagon for the long drive to Somerset, the
railway station with its store or two, some twenty miles away. Mama
cast back an anxious look, for it was risky to leave a lad eight years
old for all day alone in such a place. But a birthday cake stood ready
on the shelf. And the little fellow whistled manfully at the confidence
being shown in him. Indeed, he was not afraid. He would feed and
water old Molly, the cow.
About four o’clock in the afternoon Sander looked up from the
slate on which he had been making pictures. It was very dark.
Stepping to the door he looked out. Why, Mama and Papa must be
on the way home! Cloudy? Yes, cloudy and beginning to blow. Snow
flakes! Jolly! Snow for Christmas! He shouted for very glee and
danced on the doorstep. But a great gust almost tumbled him back
into the room. Hurriedly he closed the door. Then he went out to the
stable, but soon returned. As he lit the lamp, even little Sander, for
all his birthday, realized that a storm was on, and wondered how
Mama and Papa would get along. And well might he wonder, for the
wind was beginning to roar in the trees and rattle the door. The
snow was thick, and it became very suddenly dark. A frontier storm
of snow and wind, a blizzard such as Sander had never seen, such
as the oldest had very seldom seen, was come, and even a little boy
could not help a feeling of dread. Now he listened at the door, now
he looked out at the window, now he stirred the fire and shivered.
And the moments began to get very long. You would hardly know in
the lad who wipes away the tear over by the bed the lad who
whistled so manfully in the bright morning.
Some two or three hours later Sander slipped down from the chair
on which he had been perched for some minutes. What was that? A
noise? Somebody at the window? Joyfully he ran to the door. The
gust that swept it open blew out the lamp. Somebody came
stamping in.
 “Well, not your papa I guess. Got a match, boy?” said a snowy
figure in a muffled voice.
They had shut the door. By the stove gleam Sander saw two men.
After some fumbling one of them found a match and struck it. In the
light two strangers were seen busily brushing off the snow. One, big
and burly, was rubbing the ice off his whiskers and blinking under icy
and shaggy eyebrows. In a short time the big man and the youth
stood warming themselves.
“Just in time, boy,” said he of the beard, “just in time. God is
good. We were lost for sure. God only knows what would have
happened if we hadn’t stumbled on this house. My boy, are you all
alone here?”
Sander explained. He was still wondering at the men. In fact, he
stood by the bed a little scared at the strange folks tumbling this
way out of the night.
“Your parents coming from Somerset tonight?” At the tone of the
big man’s voice Sander looked up. What was the matter?
Not much later the men were about to sit down by the table and
eat of the lunch found in their packs. The tea kettle had been
singing cheerfully and the fire was humming. There was need both
of food and heat. Sander was shivering. He wondered at the men,
for they bent low over their plates and said something about “thanks
and praise.” The tea had just been poured when there was a thump
at the door followed by several more. Sander jumped from his chair,
exclaiming. “Mama! Papa!”
While the young man shielded the lamp Bigbeard opened the door.
An exhausted woman fell forward into the room, dragging two
children with her.
“Rescue party right here,” cried Bigbeard, as he banged the door.
Soon they were busy unwrapping the wanderers and setting them by
the fire. It was not Sander’s parents, but a schoolma’m and two of
her pupils. The smallest boy had his feet partly frozen, and the girl a
hand and a foot. When they looked up after the snow bathing,
rubbing, and warming, and putting to bed it was almost midnight.
The schoolma’m could speak now. They had wandered for a long
distance.
“Alas, if I had only closed school earlier!” She sobbed at the
thought. “Where are the other children! But who would have
thought? It was so warm and bright and clear, and then just after
four o’clock such a storm!”
“We cannot be too thankful for our escape,” said Bigbeard. “The
Lord has saved us from the storm. Perhaps now we had better eat a
bit. But, boy, how about your mama and papa?”
“Oh, they’re safe enough, I hope.”
Sander did not propose to fall short in hospitality. He now brought
something from the cupboard. “My birthday cake,” he explained.
“What! On Christmas Eve, too?” exclaimed the young man.
“And how old are you, Sander?” asked the schoolma’m. For
teachers always want to know about such matters.
But let us make a long story short. And it was a very long story to
Sander. All that night the wind roared and howled. Snow seemed to
get in everywhere. The stove glowed with heat, yet all were
shivering. Every time Bigbeard put in a fresh chunk of coal he said a
word of thanksgiving.
“Good coal never was a bigger blessing than this night. God care
for the man who brought it here,” was his ejaculation. And then he
would sit down once more. And when he saw that Sander, the little
host, was at last getting sleepy, too tired to keep awake any longer,
he pulled a Testament out of his pocket. They all sat about the table,
this odd circle of strangers who had never before met nor even seen
each other, and, as beasts that flee for safety to some cave or
swamp are friendly in their common danger tho ever so hostile
otherwise, were together, drawn into fellowship by singular bonds of
charity in this sod hut amid the storm. The young man Bigbeard
called John, and the teacher’s name was Miss Stone. Sander, wide-
eyed with fear and wonder, was still sleepily waiting for his parents.
The other children were in bed and asleep.
Bigbeard opened his Testament and all bowed their heads
devoutly as he read from the holy pages the lesson so appropriate
for the hour:
“And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the
fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And lo, the angel of
the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round
about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto
them, Fear not; for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy,
which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city
of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign
unto you: ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying
in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of
the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the
highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. And it came to
pass as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the
shepherds said one to another, Let us go even unto Bethlehem and
see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord had made
known to us. And they came with haste, and found Mary, and
Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.”
When he had read these words Bigbeard closed the book, laid it
on the table, and said, “Let us pray.” And all bent reverently as he
spoke:
“O Lord God, Heavenly Father, Thou great Shepherd of the sheep,
Thou who never failest Thy people in their need, we thank Thee that
on this night Thou didst send Jesus Thy Son to earth, that He might
live and die to be our Savior and Helper forever. And we pray Thee
that Thou, who dost temper the winds to the shorn lamb, wilt this
night care for the lost and wandering who are in the storm. We
thank Thee for this present safety. Graciously keep Sander’s father
and mother from all harm. Keep us now and forever from any storm
of evil and temptation, and, because we are the weak children of sin
and death, bring us at last into the sweet safety, warmth, and joy of
heaven, out of this world of cold and sorrow. As the shepherds went
with gladness to the manger on the first Christmas Eve, lead our
hearts with joy to Jesus this night. We ask all blessings in His name.
Amen.” And we might add that Sander slept very sweetly that night
for all his trouble.
Bang! Bang!!
It seems that even Bigbeard had nodded, as he sat by the fire,
tending it from time to time. Certainly at the noise Sander opened
his eyes out of a dream, sat up and rubbed them, to become aware
of bright daylight. The noise at the door had awakened all. And they
were on their feet stirring when the lad crept out of bed. Another
thump or two, and thru the open door in came Sander’s mama and
papa all frost—with the morning cold. Imagine their surprise and joy
to find their little boy safe, and their sod hut a rescue home amid
the broad prairie. The sun now beamed as tho he never had set with
an angry frown, and all nature was still with the serene calm which
comes after the terrific storm. The cold was nipping but the day was
cheery. And as Sander’s mama bustled about for breakfast, all told
their several stories. The night had been an awful one, and the
papers were later to bring the sad tale of how more than a hundred
school children had perished in the cold.
And when they had all eaten a good breakfast, and Papa and
Mama had told how they had put up at a house on the way to save
being lost, trusting to a higher help for the keeping of their little
Sander, Bigbeard again read a lesson and prayed, and there were
tears, not of fear but of thanksgiving. For Bigbeard was not only a
good man with whiskers, black and long, but was a missionary, who
had gone forth to seek the dwellers on the distant frontier and bring
them the Gospel. Truly he could say with St. Paul “in perils oft.” We
ought probably to give him something better than a nickname.
You may be sure that the lesson of his coming did not soon leave
that household, nor did the memory of it leave the heart of the little
boy in the sod hut in the distant valley of the Antelope. And who can
tell to what higher and better things Sander came when he grew up,
because of the night in the storm. There was indeed Christmas
blessing for him, besides the present that his parents brought back
from the town in the wagon.
 No Christmas
“Why can’t we have Christmas, Mama?” begged little May, as she
pulled her mama’s dress. Mama was very busy, and of a sudden she
wiped her eyes, for a tear had come.
“Because Uncle Mark is so sick,” she answered, stooping to kiss
the little face turned up so anxiously. “We cannot be glad and happy
here at home when he is so very ill, can we, dear?”
“But Mama, can’t we have any tree then, and won’t there be any
Santa Claus?” begged little May, her eyes almost filling with tears.
“We shall see, my darling,” answered Mama.
You may be sure these things brought no little trouble to May and
her big sister Dorothy, who boasted eight years, while May only
could claim four. Like all children, they looked forward with great
longing to Christmas, its presents and its joys, its songs and
gladness. But we must know that all is not happiness in this world.
There are great sorrows, and many homes are dark even at
Christmas time. So it was in the otherwise sunny and cheerful home
where May and Dorothy lived.
For alas, only a few days before, their dear Uncle Mark, always so
strong and happy, had come home to the city very sick. Indeed, he
had gone directly to the hospital. After a very serious operation, he
did not seem to get much better. The children missed his glad and
cheerful ways, for Uncle Mark was young and always had been full
of fun. To be sure, he would always greet them with smiles even
now.
It was very sad, indeed. Poor Grandpa and Grandma had come to
be with their dying son, and every day they went to the hospital to
sit with him. Poor little May could not understand it all, and when
she brought flowers to her dear uncle, looked with big, round eyes
of wonder to see him so thin and pale.
 She went away after talking with Mama and played a while. Then
she came back, with a question, of course, as usual.
“Isn’t Uncle Mark going to have any Christmas either, Mama?” she
asked.
Mama looked into the earnest face and said, “Perhaps, darling.”
At that moment she caught a few words of the song Dorothy was
singing in the next room and said, “Would my little girls like to sing
Uncle Mark a Christmas song?”
“Of course,” they both cried with one breath.
You may be sure they practiced hard and willingly to get a good
song learned, and came at once whenever Mama called them.
On Christmas eve it was snowing as our two little friends came to
the hospital door. They stamped the snow off their feet, shook
themselves, and went in. All was bright and cheery. Some people
think a hospital is a very gloomy place. But when they came in with
Mama and Papa out of the dark and the snow, they thought the
hospital a very cheerful and bright place. For you see, the nurses
had made everything bright and beautiful. There was evergreen, and
bells, and mottoes, and it looked cheerful enough to make even the
most sick well.
You can hardly imagine how happy May and Dorothy were to find
a beautiful Christmas tree right on the same floor where Uncle
Mark’s room was, and some of the kind nurses pulled it to his door,
that he might raise his head and take a look. Yes, even he caught
the spirit of Christmas joy as he saw the tinsel, and the candles, the
stars, the big round apples and oranges. Yes, Jesus has a Christmas
blessing for the sick also. Of course our two little girls did not clap
their hands or shout for glee, for they were in a hospital where little
children must keep very quiet. But little May had to point out and tell
about the angel figure hung in the tip-top, as tho to remind of the
angels that sang over Bethlehem to the shepherds.
 Poor Uncle! He was very sick and could hardly raise his head, all
bandaged and covered, but he looked happy and smiled. Then he
wanted May and Dorothy to sing their Christmas carol. They were
just a little bit afraid at first, because it was in a strange place, but
soon Dorothy picked up courage. Then May joined in with her little
song. For they were glad to do something for poor Uncle Mark, you
know. These were the verses they sang:

Oh, holy the night when the dear angels came

To Bethlehem lowly in days long ago;
The sky grew all light with a heavenly flame
As they sang o’er the plain soft and low.

For sweet in a manger the dear Savior lay,

Whom the shepherds came quickly to see;
And the praises of God as they went on their way,
Filled the hearts of the worshippers three.

Yes, happy they are who to angel refrain

Shall awaken ’mid glory divine,
And shall come to the manger as they of the plain
While the light from above round them shine.

Yes, glad would I go to old Bethlehem town,

Thus nearer my Jesus to be,
And joyfully carol, as angels come down,
The grace He revealeth to me.

For when Jesus doth nestle adown in the breast,

There is light, there is joy and content:
Oh, blessed Messiah, that mercy impart,
Ere my days upon earth shall be spent.

Grant me then, O my Savior, a Christmas to know

All aglow with the message of peace;
And in life, or in death, or in joy, or in woe
My gratitude never shall cease.
 Of course, Uncle Mark thanked them very much for the song, yes,
even with tears in his eyes. When they went away, he raised his
head and waved a good-bye with his hand, and smiled. But when
they were gone, the tears ran down his cheeks, for he never saw
them again, and they never sang another song to their dear uncle.
The next day, after Christmas day, a very sad company gathered
in the home of our two little friends. Uncle Mark was gone, never to
return; and when it was all over, they talked together of their
sorrow.
“Uncle Mark had a Christmas anyway, didn’t he?” said little May,
who could not understand.
“Yes, yes, child,” said Mama.
“Wasn’t that a beautiful tree!” exclaimed Dorothy; but she should
have known better than to speak. For Uncle Mark had a Christmas
indeed, with Jesus in heaven, where there is no hospital, or sickness,
or sorrow, but only joy and praise for evermore. And I am sure both
little girls, when they came to understand, were glad that they sang
him a Christmas song, even if they had no tree and no Christmas at
home.
 Buddy’s Christmas Tree
“Whyfor no snow, Unc’e Don?”
Uncle John went right ahead at his walk and said nothing.
“Whyfor no snow, Unc’e Don? Kismas come soon.”
Buddy seemed to have the idea fixed in his head that there ought
to be snow at Christmas time. He had been sucking his thumb
industriously for some time, and finally broke out in the above
remark.
“Well,” said Uncle John, “If Christmas comes soon, I shouldn’t be
surprised if we did get some snow. Why does Buddy want snow?”
“So dat Santa Claus can make his sleigh go.”
The two had been walking back and forth for quite a while in the
morning sunshine along the path to the garden gate. As a variation
they had sat upon the bench under the wide spreading pine tree
that stood near the corner of the house, its long branches reaching
almost to the porch. Of late the days had been almost summer-like,
and old gray-headed Uncle John enjoyed the change of being out in
the fresh air. Thus their companionship had grown from day to day.
The path from the porch and front door of the house was well
beaten. It led right out to the gate. On either side were bushes, bare
of leaves and dry with the winter season, as well as the withered
stems of flowers. Along the fence that lined the road was a row of
locust trees, from which practically every leaf was gone. This meant
a good deal when one remembers how small the leaves of the locust
are.
“Look—look, Unc’e Don!”
“Well, Buddy, you know I can’t look,” was the answer.
 “No look, Unc’e Don?”—Buddy seemed very much surprised. He
looked up at the tall figure beside him with a puzzled air.
“Whyfor, Unc’e Don, whyfor no look?”
“Well, Buddy, you know my eyes don’t see. I used to see pretty
well—few better, I should say—many is the squirrel I have hit right
in the fall—but I’m getting old, and some time ago, before Buddy
came, my eyes quit seeing.”
“Eye quit?”
Buddy looked up with sympathetic interest at the tall form of
Uncle John, tall even if bent with age, and square shouldered still. As
we said above they had come to be companions, now since Buddy
had made his home at the old home of his mother, the good farm
place now owned and run by two of his uncles, Will and Martin. As
they walked about the little fellow had never realized that he had
been eyes to the old man, and that his busy chatter told of what was
passing about. The little lad had been both eyes and ears as he
talked. Everything attracted his attention from the bird on the branch
to the passing automobile, from the sunshine glittering among the
branches of the trees to the whistle of the winds across the fields.
The farm home stood at the cross-roads and had been the only
home of which Buddy had any remembrance. Here his mama had
been a little girl, and here his “grannyfather” had lived his days.
Grandfather had planted the pine tree, which now rose way above
the house top.
“Mail-man, mail-man!” Buddy was shouting.
“Me get ’em, me get ’em!” he added, running for the gate. Mr.
Mail-man handed a piece or two to Buddy, but waited for Uncle John
before he handed over the rest.
“Some advertising” he explained, “Buddy will give it to Uncle
Martin.”
Buddy started for the house, very proud of the commission that
had been entrusted to him. He was met at the door, and by the
arrival of Old John everybody became busy about the mail. Buddy
and Uncle John soon found themselves on the bench once more
under the tall pine.
“Letter my Daddy?”
Buddy had been quiet again for some time, and then broke out in
this remark.
“Well, I guess not—what made you think of that?”
Uncle John had been unable to suppress his surprise. Instinctively
he reached out to lay his hand upon the boy.
“I dno.” Buddy fell into a meditative sucking of his thumb once
more. The question of his daddy had been one never referred to in
the house. He had gone away with the soldiers when the Great War
broke out. This was before Buddy was born. For some time they had
received letters, but now for more than three years there had been
no word. In secret Mama had likely shed many tears. As far as
Buddy was concerned, it never seemed to make any difference. He
had never known a father, and had lived a happy child and taken all
good things for granted. Like the sparrows of the field, he had lived
without a care. The thought of a father had hardly come into his life.
For this reason the words were all the more a surprise, and old,
gray-headed Uncle John sat struck silent in wonder at the boy.
“Me got letter, too, Unc’e Don,” explained Buddy, and his old Uncle
laughed.
“Who wrote the letter, Buddy?” inquired Uncle.
“Aw—jes’ one o’ dem bill ones,” explained Buddy.
And Uncle John laughed again.
“Aw’fu’ big tree, Unc’e Don,” remarked Buddy, all of a sudden,
changing the subject.
“I suppose it has grown big,” answered Uncle; “I remember when
your grandfather planted that tree. It wasn’t so big then.”
 “Grannyfader, he plant it?” Buddy showed a surprised interest.
“Yes, long ago. It must have grown big since then. Most of the
trees he planted have died I suppose.”
The pine tree was indeed a large one. Standing as it did away
from the corner of the house, it rose a straight pine trunk, its green
top reaching far above the roof of the house. The tree looked like a
pyramid or cone, had in fact grown more and more into the shape of
a cone. The branches reached out in a remarkably straight way, the
lower ones being of extraordinary length. The green spines with an
occasional cone contrasted with the brown and rough bark. It was
indeed a noble tree, and had grown nobly in its place since the day
“Grannyfader” set out the original little pine shoot.
“Santy Claus—he come—come way up in air,” explained Buddy.
“Well, maybe—if there is a Santa Claus—” answered Uncle John.
“Santy he come way up in air—come right down tree—he do,”
explained Buddy.
“Travels in an airship?—a Santa for boys and girls to talk about, I
suppose,” continued Uncle.
“Climb right down tree—huh?” added Buddy questioningly.
“Probably that would be a handy way, all right,” agreed Uncle,
smiling and bobbing his head. For a long time Buddy sat studying
the tree and the new idea that had gotten into his mind. About this
time Mama’s voice called from the doorway and told them that
dinner was ready. When dinner was over Buddy was to take his
usual nap.
“No want sleep,” was his remark as he rubbed his eyes. Mama
went on rocking just as tho he had not spoken.
“Haint Buddy got no daddy?”
The big, round eye looked up sleepily and earnestly.
 Mama did not answer, but she clasped her little boy tightly in her
arms. Soon the sandman began to trip around, at first on tip toe,
ever so quietly, and as Mama rocked and hummed Buddy little by
little found his eyes so heavy they would not keep open.
“Buddy’s papa indeed!” This was what Mama thought of, as she
laid the little boy down on his cot for a nap. Her eyes filled with tears
as she watched the quiet breathing of the little lad, now far away in
the still places of dreamland.
Papa indeed! Sooner or later the question must come from
Buddy’s lips, and the longing of the little heart speak from the big,
inquiring eyes. Buddy had never seen his daddy. Perhaps there had
been unkind words and misunderstandings. The letters had come
back from the Great War, and they were kind enough. But then they
had ceased, and the heart was torn between the question whether
Daddy had forgotten or whether something had happened to him, of
which there was no report. Once or twice, to begin with, there had
been a gift, but now there had been no word or message for a very
long time. Mama sighed as she turned from the quiet little cot.
During these years Buddy had been a great comfort to Mama in
her loneliness. Now he was approaching his fourth birthday. He was
old enough to catch the Christmas idea. Certainly it had taken full
possession of him. Mama had read and told the Christmas story of
the Savior. Night and day he had dwelt upon its prospects. At the
most unexpected moments and in the most unexpected ways he
would break out with the notion of what was coming. He was all the
time referring to the “Kismas Tree” and the “Kismas Time.” And now,
as old, gray-headed, blind Uncle John related, he had connected the
Christmas idea with the idea of Daddy. Singular what expectations
may arise in the mind of a little boy. Mama stood, the tears rolling
down her face, and watched the tousled head, the long, slender
limbs, the high open brow, as Buddy lay in his little bed.
The following days were busy with holiday preparations. Buddy
ran about in play, but came back every now and then to talk about
his expectations, and to get a cooky or a piece of bread and butter.
Uncle John entertained him and occupied his attention, so that
Mama might be able to assist Aunt Clara and the folks about the
house in their work. Uncle Martin and Uncle Will always had a word
for Buddy. They brought in the wood, saw to the fires, and went out
to do the chores. Sometimes Buddy went along, and always he had
many things to say. The only thing was that he kept everybody busy
watching him if he happened to be along.
“Me nervy,” he explained, and in saying so he was only echoing
Uncle Will, who sometimes got out of patience with his antics. Uncle
Martin had most patience, in listening to his many little speeches
and answering his questions. Buddy inquired many times about the
hanging up of stockings and other matters that seemed to him very
essential in view of the coming event. On Christmas Eve he hung up
his stocking, and while the family sat about, some reading papers,
others busy with final preparations, he allowed Mama to rock him to
sleep, while “Unc’e Don” dozed in his big chair. The evening had
foretokened a storm. Uncle Will had even intimated that there were
prospects of snow. Outside the wind roared, at times it even howled.
The night was a dark and cloudy one. The comfort of a warm fire in
a sheltered home was good indeed, as they sat about on the
blustering and stormy evening of the night before Christmas.
The next morning was clear and bright. All had been very quiet,
about the house. Uncle Will had looked to the fire and had been to
the barn about his chores. And now, as he stamped his feet on the
porch, he entered with a loud
“Merry Christmas!”
Buddy found himself crawling out of bed with wide open eyes in
response to the sound of the voices calling in answer to Uncle Will.
“Mama, Mama,” he yelled, and Mama came at once on hearing
that he was awake.
“Mama!—See—See—Snow—lot o’ snow!”
“Why—sure enough, Buddy.”
 “Kismas time, Mama!”
Before his mother was able to answer, Buddy had run out of the
bedroom and was on the way down stairs. It was not until he had
reached the foot of the lowest step that Mama caught up with him,
and he would likely have run right out doors into the cold and snow
had he not been stopped. Aunt Clara called from the kitchen to
remind him of the stockings he had hung up. In she came also.
Uncle John was already seated in his big chair, and Uncles Martin
and Will were warming themselves. With a shout Buddy hurried up
and was soon very busy digging out of his stockings the many
presents that were there, bags of candy, toys, nuts. He was so busy,
as were they all, that they almost forgot their breakfast. When Aunt
Clara reminded them that breakfast was ready, Buddy could only be
persuaded to come to the table when he was allowed to take with
him a roly-poly policeman of celluloid and an iron horse that he had
found among his presents. They had all bowed their heads quietly,
while Uncle Will read the Christmas story from the Gospel of St.
Luke, and had bowed their heads in prayer.
The last words of the Lord’s Prayer were just being uttered, with
the “Amen,” when there was the sound of a rap at the door. All
about the table started with surprise. Uncle Martin arose to open the
door. When the door swung back there stood before them a tall
figure dressed in a heavy gray overcoat.
The sudden silence of a deep surprise fell upon them all. Uncle
Martin seemed at a loss. It was a very unusual time to get a visitor.
The stranger took off his cap. He said:
“Mary?” Why he put the word in the tone of a question seemed
hard to understand. Then suddenly Mama gave a scream, and rose
from her chair. The stranger came forward, and took her in his arms.
Horse in one hand and policeman in the other, Buddy looked up
wonderingly.
“Oh, Buddy! Oh, Charles!”