Speaker 1: A Christmas barring out by Stella sea. Shudder. Twas the
night before Christmas, and all through the house not a
creature was stirring, not even a mouse. Bobby and Alice
in pink had hung their stockings by the living room mantle,
and though it was very very early, they decided to
go to bed. They always wanted to go to bed
early on Christmas Eve. Morning seemed to come so much
more quickly when they went to bed early. They wouldn't
even wait for a story. They would just say good
night to Grandma and go right to bed. Why, exclaimed
Grandma in surprise when they had explained their intentions to her.
You mustn't go to bed so soon. You'd be awake
in the morning before daylight. Come in and visit with me, awhile,
and I'll see if I can't think of a story
to tell you, the same as on other nights. So
they went in and sat down on their stools in
front of the fire. Grandma put on her spectacles, but
instead of her knitting, she took up her Bible. The
children were very still while she read the story of
the First Christmas. How in a stable in Bethlehem, the
baby Christ was born, and how an angel appeared to
the shepherds who were watching their flocks and told them
about the Saviour's birth. And then a host of angels
came and praised God, saying glory to God on high
and on earth, Peace, good will toward men, just as
we sing to day on Christmas. I think, said Grandma,
that I will tell you tonight about a Christmas treat
at our school. When I was a little girl, we
had a custom handed down from pioneer times called barring out.
A few days before Christmas, the teacher would arrive to
find the schoolhouse door securely fastened. Before he was admitted,
he would have to sign a paper promising to treat
his pupils. In those days, we didn't have much store candy,
and we looked forward for weeks to the Christmas treat
we got at school. You wouldn't think much of it
to day. Six sticks of red and white striped candy,
apiece winter green and sassafras and clove, and maybe one
of horehound my, but it tasted good to us. We
didn't eat it all up at once either, No indeed,
but one year we didn't know whether to look for
a treat or not. The teacher, a mister Hazen, was
from Clayville, and he had been heard to say that
he did not believe in barring out or in being
forced to treat his pupils. Nevertheless, we all came early
to school one morning and locked him out. While we
all cried treat, Treat at the tops of our voices.
William Morbison opened the window a tiny bit and thrust
out the paper they had prepared for the teacher to sign,
but he refused to touch it. This was not alarming,
as most all of the teachers stayed out for an
hour or two just for fun. We played games and
had a good time. But by time for morning intermission,
the older pupils had begun to get anxious. Could it
be possible that the teacher really did not mean to treat?
At noon, he was still out, walking up and down
the playground, clapping his hands together, stamping his feet, and
rubbing his ears to keep warm. We were anxious in earnest.
Now the wood box was empty and the fire was
getting low. There was no water in the water bucket,
and some of the younger children were coaxing for drinks.
No teacher in our recollection had ever refused to treat.
There was an old rule that if the teacher persisted
in refusing to treat, he was to be ducked in
the nearest stream of water. We had heard of instances
when this had been done, but no one wanted to
try it. The older pupils stood around and frightened little groups,
and some of the smaller children were crying openly when
the teacher knocked loudly on the door and asked that
the paper be handed out to him. But the paper
had disappeared. We searched all over the room, but it
was nowhere to be found again. The teacher knocked and
asked rather impatiently for the paper. Then William Orbison sat
down at his desk and hurriedly prepared another paper and
handed it out the window to the teacher. He looked
at it in a puzzled way for a little bit,
smiled a queer smile, and without a word, signed the
paper and handed it back to William. Then he was
admitted and took up books, But all afternoon he kept
smiling to himself, as if he knew a joke on someone.
We felt uneasy, though we didn't know why. After school.
That evening, my brother Truman asked William Orbison to let
him see the paper the teacher had signed. When he
read it, he gave a long whistle of astonishment. And
what do you think William had done In the fuss
and excitement of writing out the second paper? He had
omitted the word treat. The teacher had promised nothing that
explained his smiles. We were a disappointed lot of children,
I can tell you we shouldn't have any Christmas treat
for after the way the teacher had talked about treating,
no one thought he would treat if he could help it,
and here was a way out for him. The next
day we were perfectly sure he did not intend to treat,
for when William Orbison left out a word in his
reading lesson, the teacher said, watch yourself, William. Leaving out
words as getting to be quite a habit with you.
Other years, we could hardly wait till the day before Christmas.
We wore our best clothes and write. After dinner we
would speak pieces, have spelling and ciphering matches, sing songs,
have our treat, and play games the rest of the afternoon.
Lots of the older brothers and sisters would come to
visit and they would play with us, and the teacher
would play too, and we would have lots of fun.
But this year I should rather have stayed at home
and watched the Christmas preparations at our house, for there
wouldn't be much fun at school without any treat. It
was a cold, windy morning, and father took us to
school and the sled. We had lessons in the morning
as usual, and in the afternoon recitations and songs and
a little play that the teacher had helped us get up.
Truman gave Hamlet soliloquy and did it very well too,
and Charlie had a piece, but he forgot all but
the first verse. We were so interested that we didn't
think about the treat, and you can imagine how surprised
we were when the teacher, instead of dismissing us, said
that we would now have an unexpected but very welcome visitor.
The door opened and in came old Santa Claus, with
a white beard and a red coat, and on his
back the biggest bag. You should have seen our eyes pop.
Of course, it wasn't the really truly Santa Claus who
comes in the night and fills the stockings. Oh no,
this was just to pretend. Santa. He put his bag
down on the teacher's platform, and after he had made
a little speech, he opened it up. And what do
you suppose was in that bag? Candy? Cream candy and
chocolate drops, and clear candy red and yellow shaped like animals,
and horns, and baskets such candy as we had never
seen before. A sack for each pupil. As we went
up one by one, the smallest first to get our treat,
Santa asked each one of us to recite something for him.
The smaller children knew verses out of their readers, and
some of us recited the pieces we had said earlier
in the afternoon. But how we all laughed when Longford Henlen,
who was the tallest boy in school, couldn't think of
anything to say. But I had a little dog his
name was Jack. Put him in the barn. He jumped
through a crack. And now to bed, to bed, and
go right to sleep. I've heard that if Santa Claus
comes and finds children awake, he goes away and comes
back later. That is, he means to come back later.
But he has been known to get so busy, he
forgot to come back at all. So say your prayers
and go to sleep, And of a Christmas barring out
by Stella's sea shutter,