"Melley Klischma..." That's what I heard when I opened our back door that Christmas morning.

　　A very young David L. Eppele was bleary-eyed from the yule lights, the tree and the presents. I was right in the middle of just about the best Christmas a 7-year-old could probably ever endure.

　　You see, there was a whole box of homemade candy from Aunt Ellen, two boxes of apples (those good ones from Chihuahua), a crate of oranges with an official Pasadena, California, city seal and a 50-pound sack of pin nuts to munch on while I played with my new ELECTRIC TRAIN!

　　Then there was the Christmas candy. Why, I was so charged up that I discovered I was working on two candy canes at the same time!

　　This was the morning of all mornings! It was Christmas!

　　The coal stove was busy emitting aromas that shouted "turkey and all the trimmings will be served within the hour!"

　　Genuine hand-blown glass ornaments from Germany glowed softly on the Christmas tree branches and the smell of pin roasting right along with the turkey was a complete overload on the senses of this young man.

　　Why, wasn't it just this morning that I learned the true secret to eating a candy cane that had been stuck inside a hole carved in an orange? Wasn't that just the neatest thing? And who said you can't make little tunnels out of slightly used but eternally beautiful Christmas wrapping paper? Oh! Just look at the headlight of the engine coming up through the tunnel!

　　I guess it was while I was in the middle of teaching my Lionel train how to crack pin nuts without derailing that Dad asked me to answer the back door. I was so engrossed in all that nut-cracking that I didn't even hear that knock on our door.

　　As I ran to the back door, I hurriedly tied the belt of my brand new robe, the one just like Dad's. I thought it went well with my new slippers. I sported a new pair of genuine Levi cowboy pants and I would be remiss if I didn't tell you that I was wearing two new shirts and a pair of leather gloves. I'm not sure if my Eskimo snow hat was on straight or not...but I did wrap a big red muffler around my neck.

　　I flung open the back door and there, in front of me, was the oldest Indian I think I ever saw. His face was weathered and wrinkled. His hands nearly purple with the cold. He stood on one foot, then on the other, occasionally stomping his feet, to ward off the cold.

　　"Melley Klischma," he said. I couldn't respond to something I didn't understand. I had no idea what this man said or what he wanted.

　　Melley Klischma," he said again, this time pointing to an old, dirty cotton sack he was carrying....still, I could not respond.

　　I turned back toward the kitchen, where Mom was doing those secret things that make Christmas dinner so great. I saw the startled look on her face when she saw who was at our door.

　　"Joe, you'd better talk with this man..." said my mother.

　　My father came to the back door. He placed both hands on my shoulders as I once again heard the old man say "Melley Klischma!"liuxuepaper.com