This is from another list. It is long, but a very good story(not sure if it is a true story though) Gloria The Christmas Cake By Ed Price Deep snow filled the valleys and hollows of the Unaka Mountains with soft, powdery whiteness. Christmas Day dawned clear and bright that frosty morning in 1791. Outside the cabin all was quiet but John Osborne, pioneer father of seven, didn't have to tax his imagination to know what was coming next. A half dozen Indians were positioning themselves for a final all-out attack. All night long the place had been under siege. The warriors had arrived about the middle of the afternoon on Christmas Eve, just as Mrs. Osborne was taking her famous Christmas cake -- a splendid confection of flour, honey, dried fruit and nuts -- out of the Dutch oven. Women in her German-born family baked the cake for generations -- a special treat only to be eaten on Christmas day. With three Kentucky long rifles available, John Osborne and his two oldest sons stationed themselves at narrow slots built into the walls of the cabin and repeatedly blazed away at the attacking warriors while Mrs. Osborne and the younger boys reloaded the guns. The Indians had rifles too but, luckily, no one in the cabin had been hit. And as far as John Osborne could see, none> of the attacking Indians had been shot either. Three-year-old Sarah, the only Osborne girl, seemed oblivious to everything around her. At first the noise of the firing had hurt her ears, but she quickly adjusted and turned her mind to more pressing thoughts -- mainly getting herself a generous slice of Mama's Christmas cake. "Sarah want Christmas cake," she said to her mother, who was busily jamming a ramrod down the gullet of a rifle."Not now," her mother snapped back impatiently. "Maybe later when our 'guests' have left." Then she handed her husband the freshly-loaded long rifle while he handed her an empty one. Sarah toddled over to her 15-year-old brother, William, who was busily aiming his rifle through a slot. She reached out with a chubby hand, grabbed his homespun pant leg and tugged. "Sarah wants cake," she said loudly, trying to get his attention. William was too busy to be bothered. He unceremoniously shoved her away. The little girl went from one brother to the other. All were too busy to eat cake, let alone cut a piece for Sarah. Finally, sadly, she wrapped herself in a piece of bearskin and hunkered down in a corner of the cabin. As soon as darkness fell the firing stopped. Sarah's mother relit the fire in the fireplace as her husband and sons kept watch through the slots. Finally John Osborne turned to his wife. "I can't understand why they haven't tried to burn the cabin down," he said ominously. "Don't even think of such a thing," his wife snapped back. "Just thank God we're still alive." "Maybe they're just trying to harass us, to drive us away." Mrs. Osborne frowned. "Give me half a chance and I'll be in that wagon heading east before you know it." John Osborne nodded agreement. Two days ago a person couldn't have pried him from his new farmstead. Now he was more than ready to load up his wife, kids, and what few belongings they had, and head back to the Cape Fear River were, at least, the local natives didn't use you for target practice. Little Sarah was fast asleep in the bearskin. When her mother picked her up she woke and babbled the first thing that entered her mind. "Can we eat cake, now?" Mrs. Osborne smiled at her daughter and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "No," she answered. "That cake is for Christmas -- tomorrow..." She turned to her husband and mumbled, "...That is, if we all live long enough to eat it!" --- Now it was Christmas day. John Osborne thought it doubtful whether any of the family would survive the hour. But all that Sarah could think of was the Christmas cake. It had snowed heavily the night before and it was frigid outside the cabin. Inside, it wasn't much warmer but, at least, there was no wind. Those Indians out there must have been freezing. "I hope they freeze to death," Mrs. Osborne said emphatically. John Osborne raised his eyebrows. "Let's be charitable, Mother," he said soothingly. "If we're going to die, we might as well do it while loving our enemies." Mrs. Osborne stamped her foot angrily on the hard-packed dirt floor of the cabin. "Love them if you wish, John. As for me, I hope they all go to the blazes!" Sarah tugged her mother's skirt. "Christmas cake," she burbled. Her mother smiled. "Of course. Christmas cake. It is Christmas day, isn't it." She moved to the table and picked up a knife. "We'll all have a piece," she said as she sunk the blade into the soft confection. The family assembled at the table, all but the oldest son who continued to keep watch. John picked up his wedge of cake and said, "I bet them savages would like a piece of this." Sarah was wide-eyed. "Why?" she asked. Because it's cold, honey? I bet they haven't eaten for..." "Here they come!" the eldest son shouted. Christmas cake was instantly forgotten as family members scrambled to their stations. Firing started again. Outside Sarah heard yelling and whoops. Daddy was right. They must be hungry. They cried like she did when she wanted something to eat. The eldest son nearly dropped his rifle when he saw what happened next. "What in the...." John Osborne shouted through the slot. "Sarah! Come back here!" Mrs. Osborne jumped up and looked around the cabin. Sarah was gone. The door was standing open. Her husband now stood in the opening, his eyes fixed on something outside the cabin. The firing had stopped. "What's happening?" she shouted. A stifled cry came from her lips. The Indians had stopped attacking. Instead, they stood in the snow around a little girl who was holding a plate bearing her mother's Christmas cake. She held it up to the astonished Indians. Obviously, none of them knew quite what to do. Finally one of the Indians -- a tall, graying warrior -- reached over and took a piece of the cake. Gingerly he tasted it. When he finally realized that the little girl wasn't trying to poison him, he took a bigger bite. The half-dozen other warriors each took a piece and ate as if they hadn'teaten for days. In no time at all, the Christmas cake was gone. The older Indian now bent down and whispered a few words to little Sarah. Then they both looked toward the house. Sarah took the brawny Indian's hand in her soft, white one, and they both slowly began walking toward the cabin. Inside, the Osborne family was on the verge of panic. "Here they come. What are we going to do now?" Mrs. Osborne asked her husband. John shrugged in confusion. Before they knew it, Sarah and the Indian were standing at the door. Sarah urged him to come inside, but he refused. John Osborne pointed his long rifle at the Indian's chest. The old Indianglanced at the muzzle warily. Then he made an unmistakable sign of greeting with his hand. "I am Dragging Canoe," he said solemnly. John's stomach did a triple somersault. So this was the infamous Dragging Canoe, the renegade Cherokee who swore he would never make peace with the whites. He had broken with his own people to form the Chickamauga Nation. Now, this terror of the frontier was standing at John's very threshold, making signs of peace. Dragging Canoe nodded toward Sarah. "Little Flower fed my braves when we were hungry. You will now live in peace." Then he turned and walked back to his braves. "They're leaving," the eldest son said in utter amazement. "They're just walking away." Mrs. Osborne closed the door, stooped down, and gathered her little daughter into her arms. "Why did you go out there?" she demanded to know. "Daddy said the men outside were hungry," she answered simply. "I took them food." So a simple act of generosity by a little girl had saved an entire family from destruction. And Dragging Canoe was as good as his word. The family was never bothered again by Indian raiders. (NOTE: The next spring, 60-year-old Dragging Canoe died of apoplexy after an all-night war dance. The eventual fate of little Sarah Osborne is unknown.)