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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..18ddc57 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #64124 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64124) diff --git a/old/64124-0.txt b/old/64124-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index aa84004..0000000 --- a/old/64124-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2758 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Santa Claus' Sweetheart, by Imogen Clark - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Santa Claus' Sweetheart - -Author: Imogen Clark - -Release Date: December 24, 2020 [eBook #64124] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SANTA CLAUS' SWEETHEART *** - - - - - SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART - - [Illustration: “Will ye tell me good-by now, swateheart?” - - _Page 93._] - - - - - [Illustration: - - SANTA CLAUS’ - SWEETHEART - - BY - - IMOGEN CLARK - - ILLUSTRATED - - [Illustration: colophon] - - NEW YORK - - E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY - - 31 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET] - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1906, - E. P. DUTTON & CO. - - Published September, 1906. - - - THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. - - - TO - - E. A. M. M. - - - - -CONTENTS - - -CHAPTER PAGE - - I. ENTER SANTA CLAUS 3 - - II. THE RIDE TOGETHER 30 - -III. EXIT SANTA CLAUS 66 - - IV. CHRISTMAS EVE AT THORNBY’S 97 - - V. THE PEACE OF GOD 130 - - VI. CHRISTMAS DAY 165 - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - -“Will ye tell me good-by now, swateheart?” (p. 93) _Frontispiece_ - -She stood waiting, listening to the bells _Facing page 96_ - - - - -SANTA CLAUS’ SWEETHEART - -[Illustration: text decoration] - - - - -CHAPTER I - -ENTER SANTA CLAUS - - -Terry O’Connor always declared he was born under a happy star, and he -also maintained that at the time of his coming into the world it had -danced for very joy. This statement, which no matter how much others -might doubt but could not dispute, he had direct from his mother’s -mother, who was present on that most auspicious occasion, and had -observed the unusual conduct of the stellar body from the window. And, -moreover, as if to establish quite conclusively the connection between -the shining merriment in the skies and the advent of the little child on -earth, the first thing the baby did was to smile. Old Mrs. Mulcahey knew -what she was talking of. She had seen many new-born children in her -time, and all of them, with the exception of her small and only -grandchild, had worn such doleful countenances that a less hopeful -person than herself would have been cast into despair. Whether that -dazzling, dancing star had blinded her eyes, or had given them a truer -vision, who shall say? She had seen--what she had seen! A little joyful -slip of humanity come valiantly into this world of trouble, equipped -from the outset with the sign-royal of a light heart. - -It was the humblest of cradles; but to it, as to all cradles--so runs -the old belief--had trooped, unseen, the good fairies with their gifts, -and hither also had come the wicked fairy, who is seldom absent at such -times, and whose malignant generosity mars all the gracious giving, -making possession only too often of doubtful value. Here, as elsewhere, -she wreaked her evil will so that the little child grew to be a man -known through the countryside as a good-for-naught. That was the extent -of her work, however; she was powerless to prevent another testimony. He -was also known as a kindly, happy-go-lucky fellow, his own worst enemy, -but the friend of all the world. Such was the record of five-and-sixty -years, and such it would be to the end. - -Terry dragged his squirrel cap closely down about his ears, and pulled -the collar of his fur coat up to meet it, shutting out the shouts that -rose from the group of idlers gathered around the roaring fire in -Wistar’s tavern. Not even Ulysses, on that memorable voyage of his past -the sirens, ever strove so vigorously to dull his hearing as did this -little commonplace man, who was generally in thrall to his own -pleasures. In spite of the laughter which reached him in faint bursts, -he strode resolutely to the door and let himself out into the still, -white world. For a moment his will, nerved as it seldom was, faltered; -back of him, through the open door, he could see the gleaming eye of -the fire winking and blinking in friendly wise; the grinning human faces -turned his way, jovial as they were, were less alluring, though he knew -what comfort lay in their mirth, and what additional comfort would be -passed from lip to lip as the hours went by. He was not unfamiliar with -such scenes, but the knowledge that the morrow would be Christmas and -his rude sleigh contained what would go to the needs, and also to the -meagre pleasuring of the shantymen at Thornby’s logging-camp, as well as -another and still more potent thought, lent an unusual firmness to his -step. He was not sure of himself even then, however, though he cleared -the distance with a bound which landed him in the centre of his waiting -sleigh, and shook out the reins with a wild halloo that startled the -placid old horses and made them whirl forward on the frozen road with -the friskiness of youth. The noise of the hurried departure brought the -men within the tavern running to the open door, to stand there -bare-headed, gaping at the diminishing speck which they knew--and did -not know. A man of determination, surely, and hitherto their -acquaintance had been with one who never could say “no,” or a quarter of -a “no,” on any occasion--the real Terry O’Connor. - -Meanwhile, as the sorry-looking nags sobered down to their everyday -gait, the man back of them knew which was the real self. His own -conduct, despite the fact that he held its key, had surprised him even -more than it had his companions; and as his thoughts turned longingly to -the spot he had just quitted, he let his grasp slacken on the reins. It -was better that the horses should take their own way for a while; he -could not quite trust himself. Presently, however, when no backward -glance revealed the tavern, and all around the country lay wrapped in -the white silence of winter, he gathered the lines more firmly between -his fingers and called a jovial word of encouragement. His voice rang -out loud and far-reaching,--the only sound to break the stillness save -the monotonous sing-song of the sleigh bells that struck a vibrant note -on the clear air, and the sharp crunching of the hardened snow under -the passing hoofs. Another man in Terry’s place, doing his duty against -his inclination, would have performed the task stolidly if there were no -one by to applaud his action and recognize what a fine fellow he was. -With Terry it was different. Once starting out to do a thing he carried -his own lightness of heart into the matter, which was probably the -result of being born under a happy star. - -There were other reasons in this instance, besides the performance of -his duty, to make Terry happy. He had never heard that duty done is the -soul’s fireside; indeed, had he been consulted on the subject he would -have frankly cast his vote for Wistar’s fireside with the hot toddy -going around at blessed intervals rather than for any warmth that might -come from his soul because of his own well-doing. He knew little of his -soul, and cared less; that was something, according to him, to be -reserved for the time when illness, or old age, should overtake him. At -present, with his lusty health and his gay heart that was bubbling over -with youth despite his years, he disregarded the acquaintance entirely. -He had turned his face resolutely toward the north and to the north he -would go, though first the provisions would be duly left at the camp; -but he had no intention of remaining there himself. A glass of -grog--another--they could scarcely offer him less than two!--and he -would be away again. Like a beacon, out of the distance, beckoning to -him was the jollity up at Merle. It was there he meant to keep the -Christmas Eve vigil and, moreover, win the bet Narcisse Vélin had made. -For Narcisse, smarting under what he termed “a slight to hees honor-r,” -had declared that Terry would never be able to leave Wistar’s tavern and -the jolly crowd assembled there, and the shantymen would be obliged to -do without their Christmas cheer because they had chosen so unworthy a -bearer instead of a more capable man--he would mention no names!--and -then with an evil laugh he had made a heavy wager that his words would -come true. - -Terry shivered momentarily under his furs, though he was so well -wrapped up that the cold was powerless to reach him. How nearly had -Narcisse been right, how nearly had he--Terry O’Connor--been the loser. -The grog was so good at Wistar’s, and Baptiste, the most famous -story-teller of them all, had just come in with a new and wonderful -adventure at his tongue’s end, and the glow of the fire was like a -gentle hand soothing one into forgetfulness. Then suddenly he had -remembered the packed sleigh without with Danny and Whitefoot waiting -patiently, though mournfully shaking their bells from time to time to -remind him of themselves, of his duty, and, more than all, of Narcisse. -The latter thought was the real spur to goad him out of the ease into -which he had fallen. So he had left the tavern, and the surprise his -action had caused filled him with great glee. - -“They’ll niver be t’rough talkin’ av it,” he chuckled aloud, “niver! -They’ll say whin they tell their shtories ’twas the year, ye mind, whin -Terry, the little jool av a man, wudn’t stay along wid us though we -besached most beguilin’, an’ the grog was that edifyin’ ’twas its own -monymint. He wint out into the piercin’ cold did that brave little -felly”--Terry’s chest swelled with pardonable pride--“because he’d -passed his say-so. He’s a square sowl is the lad, though there do be -some avil-minded folks as give out that he an’ his promises don’t walk -on the same side av the way--now the howly saints fergive thim!” He -flapped the reins on the horses’ backs. - -“Hi, there, me byes!” he shouted. “’Tis a fine supper ye’ll be havin’, -an’ Narcisse Vélin will be afther payin’ the score. Kape a-goin’, me -beauties. The moon will be up whin we go into Merle, an’ ye’ll be -dhroppin’ wid fatague; but aisy! now--aisy!--there won’t be anny work -to-morry, childer--oh, jist ye wait an’ see! They’ll be afther thinkin’ -we ain’t comin’, an’ Narcisse will say in his Frenchy way: ’Bieng! -didn’t I tol’ ye so? The bet is mine, an’ little Terry’ll have to pay -up; ye can’t put no daypindince in a man av his build iver--’ An’ whilst -the avil wurrds are dhroppin’ from his mouth I’ll walk in on thim all as -inconsequenshul-like as if I was goin’ to a fair. That’s the toime the -laugh will be wid me, an’ Narcisse will want to slink aff to some -remoted place. Oh, there does be no sinse at all to make wagers onlesst -ye be sure av winnin’--thin ye can make thim big--” - -The thought so pleased him that he laughed boisterously, and flicked the -horses with the whip, much as a man would nudge his neighbor with a -friendly elbow at some witticism; then, his merriment abating a trifle, -he began to sing. - -Suddenly he broke off in his song, and his fingers closed tightly over -the slack reins; the horses felt the authoritative touch and came to an -instant standstill. Before them lay the road which here led across the -open country, though farther on it wound through the woods and over the -low hills. Back of them, three good miles by now, was the little -settlement with Wistar’s tavern (which had given the place its name) as -a nucleus, while to the left stretched the plain empty of all sign of -life; and to the right there was the same level whiteness, broken only -by a solitary house which fronted the road at some distance away and -seemed like a belated straggler, held captive by the relentless bonds of -winter, as it peered longingly in the direction of the small town from -whose companionship it was forever set apart. There was an air of -forlornness about it, surrounded as it was by all that glitter of ice -and glint of frost, though the chimney smoke curling slowly up through -the sharp air told of a certain homely cheer within. It was off the -beaten track, however, and despite the fact that Terry had halted he -made no attempt to give evidence of his presence by so much as a shout. -Out of the earth, almost beside him, there had unexpectedly risen a -small figure, and he now found himself staring into a child’s eager -face. - -“Are you Santa Claus?” she demanded with bated breath. - -He looked back at her, taking in, even in his dull fashion, the delight -that widened her eyes and shrilled her voice. Suppose he told the -truth--what then? How the disappointment would cloud the upturned -radiant face at the commonplace statement that he was only Terry -O’Connor. He hesitated an inappreciable moment; then, because he had -been born under a dancing star and loved a jest, he answered her -question. - -The child’s laugh rang out on the air in happy triumph, waking the -echoes. The horses stirred a little and their dull old bells gave forth -a low sound, but it wasn’t music compared to that which filled Terry’s -ears. He took up the reins reluctantly. She pressed nearer, putting out -a small, resolute hand as if she were one of those old-time, -fierce-browed highwaymen and meant to stop his further progress. - -“Ah, please don’t,” she protested, in a tone no knight of the road would -ever have employed, “please--” Then with a little rush, as if the words -were eager to escape: “ I was so sure it was truly you, so sure. I saw -you when you were way off--just a teeny, weeny speck--and first I -thought maybe it was Pierre, or p’r’aps the doctor, or Mr. Higgins, and -I came down here ’cause they always say ‘How are you?’ as they -pass--they’re such noticing big men! I couldn’t see very clear, you -know, with the sun shining one way and the snow sending back baby -sparkles the other; but everything seemed so happy, and when I heard you -singing, I knew why--even your bells sounded glad--glad! I just could -hardly wait. I’ve thought so much about you always--I knew you’d come -some day. Where--where are you going now, sir?” - -“Home,” answered Terry, honestly enough. - -She cast a quick glance at the north along the road he must travel, and -which, to her fancy, led henceforth to an enchanted world; then her eyes -sought his face again. - -“Oh!” she cried breathlessly, “must you go quite--quite yet?” - -At the possibility of his departure, the joy that had been written all -over her confident little person seemed suddenly to take wing, leaving -her dejected and forlorn. The pleasure had been so brief,--a mere flash -of brightness that was over almost as soon as it had come. - -Terry hesitated; every moment he lingered imperilled the fulfilment of -his wager, for his horses were old, and their best was apt to be very -slow indeed. He could not afford to loiter. “Before twelve av the clock, -Christmas Eve,” Narcisse had taunted him. But the little child! It -seemed almost a sin to cheat her of this happiness. He must go, yet -everything about her--drooping lips and saddened eyes--bade him stay. -Then, filled with a desire to please her and, at the same time, not -interfere with his own plans, he bent down. - -“Come along wid me,” he suggested jocosely. - -He had not been prepared for the effect his words would have on her; the -joy in her face was keen as a dagger’s point, and seeing it he would not -temporize. - -“Come wid me,” he urged. - -She hesitated in her turn, and cast a backward glance at the silent -house whose tin roof flashed almost like an admonishing eye in the sun. -Duty was a word of even less proportions in her vocabulary than in -Terry’s, though she knew its existence; knew, too, young as she was, the -wide gulf that lies between right and wrong doing. Yet here was no -question of wrong, certainly. The possibility of the passing of such an -Important Personage had never occurred to her elders, and they, who -loved to see her happy, would never refuse to let her go with him; it -wasn’t necessary to ask--she couldn’t wait. The house was so lonely! Her -uncle was away at his work, and her mother sat sad and quiet, sewing the -livelong day; there were no children’s voices in the empty rooms, no -rollicking, romping feet in the hall or on the stairs. Just silence, -save for the little sounds she herself made as she played with her -dolls, or, tired of them, watched the big, desolate world from the -window. That was the picture the house held for her. This,--she looked -again at the little red-cheeked, blue-eyed man smiling at her from under -his big fur cap, his white beard framing his jovial face--why, he had -just stepped from her story book; hundreds of times he had met her -glance in this same friendly fashion from the printed page; just so had -he looked at her in those long daydreams, gleamed at her so in the -twilight from the leaping fire, haunted her slumbers at night. Even the -sound of his voice was familiar, though she had never thought to hear -him say: “Come with me, come with me.” - -The road, stretching away to the north, gleamed like silver under the -dazzling sky, twinkling and beckoning to her as with a thousand hands, -and innumerable voices, too fine to be heard by ordinary ears, echoed -the invitation. The voices of the sleeping plains waking at the thought -of the happiness in store for her, the voices of the snow-covered trees -where the little leaves danced in the summer time, and all the spirits -of the birds that had once darted in and out among them and had nested -there sang now in a mighty chorus: “Come, come, come.” - -Oh, that happy, happy road. Never a child of all the multitude of -children on earth who had loved him, dreamed about him, and longed to -see him had been so fortunate as she. It was impossible to hesitate a -moment longer, especially when the pursed up lips might so quickly slip -from the magic word into a chirrup to the horses, and in consequence -sleigh and occupant would vanish into thin air. - -“Do you really mean it?” she asked tremulously. “Do you really mean it?” -For though she was deafened by the noisy voices, his had been the first -to speak. “Will you take me, truly?” - -For answer he threw back the robes, and as she sprang to his side he -gave a great laugh and drew her closer to him; then he dragged an extra -rug from the bottom of the sleigh and folded it about her. - -“Santa Claus’ swateheart mustn’t ketch the p-noo-moany,” he cried. -“Divil a bit av it! What do I percaive--is it missin’ a mitten ye are? -Sure that’s disthressful, fer we can’t hunt it up now wid toime racin’ -by like a mill-shtrame--” - -“I’m unpartikilar, truly. I don’t mind the leastest bit--” - -“Well, mine wud be too shmall fer the likes av ye annyway, an’ I nade -thim mesilf. So tuck your hands clost under, me darlint, an’ ye won’t be -afther falin’ the cold. Now thin, is it ready ye are?” - -“Yes, oh, yes.” - -“Hi, there, Danny! Hi, there, Whitefut!” he shouted. “Buckle to, me -byes; the luck av the wurrld is foldin’ her arrms about me at this -toime, an’ no mishtake. Git a move on ye, childer.” - -The horses obeyed his voice with alacrity, as if they were eager to get -their work over; the bells jingled, the snow beneath the runners gave -out a sharp hissing sound by way of answer, and the little sweetheart, -only her face showing out of the old brown rug as she nestled close -against the man’s arm, laughed merrily. - -Before them the happy road, its joyous voices still calling to her, went -on and on into the very rim of the sky; behind them the white earth -stretched. They didn’t glance back--why should they? There was not much -to see,--nothing but the empty plain and the lonely little house that -seemed to shiver there all by itself; the silent little house where no -child played, or looked from any of its windows. It seemed to have no -love for the outer world, and no interest in it; yet zigzagging from its -door were the prints of certain steps--too big for a fairy, too tiny for -a man,--a strange huddle of marks ever forming new paths, and finally -coming to an end at the side of the road. - -And the road led north, and the road led south, but nowhere was there -any trace of a small maid faring forth on a mission of discovery. One -would never have dreamed of her passing that way, had it not been for -those adventurous footprints and for the little red mitten that showed -upon the snow like a hand flung out in a silent good-by. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE RIDE TOGETHER - - -“An’ the shtar danced whin I was born--” - -“That was because you were Santa Claus,” laughed the little maid. - -“Faith, ’twas because I was mesilf--jest a slip av a babe that wud have -gladdened your eyes to see. ’Twas a happy shtar, an’ it came geekin’ in -at the windy,--An’ how are ye, me broth av a b’y?’ it seemed to say; -an’ I, not knowin’ the spache av the wurrld, jest shmiled back for an -answer. A shmile, or a laugh, is the best spache afther all, an’ don’t -ye fergit it. Why, even the brute dorgs know the differ betwixt glum -looks an’ cheerful ones. An’ the shtar wasn’t to be bate by a dorg, not -it! Iv’ry blessed wurrd that lay in me heart an’ cudn’t git to me -tongue’s end--the way bein’ thin unknown--was clear to it, an’ twinkle, -twinkle, hop, skip, jump it wint, a-twangin’ its little fiddle in chune -to its steps. Me mither’s mither--may the peace av hivin be her sowl’s -rist!--near dhropped me aff her knees wid amazemint, fer niver had she -beheld such divarshions; an’ by reason av the same she ran the pins into -me body, mishtakin’ it fer a cushion, but niver a whoop did I let forth, -bein’ all took up mesilf wid the joy av the shtar. Sure, she cud have -made a clove apple av me intoirely an’ I wudn’t have been none the -wiser. She rectified her mishtake did she, an’ if she’d been in doubts -that all the saylestial fandarago was in me honor, she saw the truth av -it thin. ‘Mavourneen,’ she sez to me mither, ‘there’s a little happy -shtar widout in the hivins doin’ a quick-shtep, an’ up an’ down the -middle, an’ ballings to corners all because av this new-born babe who’s -laughin’ wid the humor av it--’ ‘An’ why not?’ sez me mither, wid a -certain fierceness in the soft voice av her. ‘Why shudn’t the whole -firmymint be set into a commotion av gladness because av him? Faith, if -ye cud pennythrate to me heart,’ sez she, ‘ye’d see it dancin’ as niver -was. Bring him here to me arrms, alanna, that I may cuddle him clost, -so’s he can fale the bate av it.’ Thin the ould woman did as she was -bid, an’ me mither--now the saints bless her swate sowl!--held me till -her side an’ talked to me low, whilst the joy av her heart crept -insid’yus like into me own, an’ it’s lived there iver since.” - -“What did she say? Did she call you Santa Claus?” - -“Faith, she didn’t--not thin, nor aftherwards. She called me _Cushla -ma-chree_,--which manes Pulse av me Heart,--an’ Jool, an’ Precious, an’ -Light av me Eyes--” - -“But those are my own names, truly, all but the first one, and Heart’s -Content, and--” - -“Ah, the mithers--bless thim! There does be but one langwidge they spake -the wurrld over. Don’t I know the truth av it? An’ the haythins as -well, that haven’t a wurrd av English to their names--God pity thim, -though he made thim an’ gave thim their gibberish, too--they say the -same thing in their outlandish tongue, an’ the little haythins -undershtand as well as you an’ me. Heart’s Contint, an’ Wurrld’s -Blessin’ an’--” - -“‘Dear my little own,’--only muvver made that up speshilly for me; she -told me so--” - -“Did she, now? Begorra, the familiarity av it sounds like music in me -ears. I remimber me own mither whisperin’ something akin to it wanst -whin I snuggled clost to her. Whist! ’tis out av their falin’s fer us -that they do be gettin’ the wurrds afther all, an’ that’s betther than -learnin’ thim from the books. Whin ye come to think av it, it ain’t to -be wondered at that there’s a sort av fam’ly raysimblince betwixt thim, -seein’ as their hearts are av the same complexion. Oh, there ain’t -annything annyw’eres like a mither’s love.” - -For just a little minute the eyes blazing with fun took on a misty -twinkle, and something like a shadow crossed the old man’s face, making -it seem strangely grave; but it was gone as quickly as it had come, and -he was his merry self once more. - -“It must have been a most ’normous long while ago when you were a baby,” -the child said, inspecting him shyly. - -“It was, me darlint; it was the beginnin’ av toime--fer me.” - -“Somehow I never thought of you as a baby at all,” she went on, plainly -distressed. “Oh, what ever did the little children do then for Santa -Claus? There was never any other, was there?” - -“Niver a wan, Swate Eyes. I’m the original, simon-pure Santa Claus, an’ -no mishtake. Troth, they had to get on the best they cud widout me; an’ -a sorry toime they had av it, wan an’ all. Thin I came, an’ the wurrld -was a different place iver afther--so me mither towld me.” - -The child breathed a sigh of relief. - -“I’m so glad I got born when I did. I shouldn’t have liked to be borned -before you came. I’m half-past six, you know. Who filled your stocking?” -she demanded the next moment, as the new idea occurred to her. - -“Divil a wan I had to hang up whin I was a spalpeen; ’twas bare-futted -an’ bare-legged I wint.” - -“But Christmas,”--the little maid’s lip trembled,--“what did you do at -Christmas?” - -“’Twas like anny plain, ordinary iv’ry day to me, agra, an’ no differ; -except that wanst in jest so often me mither hid a plum in the bit cake -she was afther makin’ fer me, an’ I’d the joy av searchin’ it out -mesilf, same as ye’d seek out a naydle in a hayrick. An’ toimes it was -fat, an’ toimes ag’in ’twas like the shadder av itsilf; but glory be! I -niver missed it. An’ ’twas so good, fat or lane, that I used to drame -I’d give iv’ry child in the wurrld a cake all shtuffed wid plums whin I -growed up--” - -“That was what put it into your head to be Santa Claus.” - -The man cast a sidelong glance at his companion’s eager face. - -“S’pose so,” he muttered. - -“But the star knew all along, and that’s why it danced and couldn’t keep -still.” She stole her hand into the curve of his arm, and gave it a soft -little squeeze. “Tell me ’bout that first time,” she coaxed. - -“What first toime?” - -“When you went Santa Clausing. Were you very long growing up?” - -“’Twas a terrible long spell from the b’y’s ind, an’ a terrible short -wan from the man’s,--all av which you’ll undershtand whin your hair is -me own color. But ’twas over an’ done wid sooner or late, an’ there I -was a man grown, though the heart av me has always been like a child’s -because av the shtar--” - -“And ’cause you belong to us.” - -“’Tis a Solymon King av Sheba ye are, alanna. Well, I wint about me -work, an’ I toiled up an’ down the wurrld; but the goin’ was joyful -like, ’count av the fun I left in me wake, an’ iv’rywheres folks seemed -powerful glad to see me.” - -“I tried to keep awake last Christmas Eve,” she broke in shrilly, “after -muvver hanged up my stocking, but the sandman would come. I’d been awake -so long that when he crept in in his long gray cloak and with his bag -on his back, I thought it was truly you, and my heart went thumpety -thump. But he shook out the sand--sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle. -‘To-night of all nights you must sleep,’ he said; and I cried ‘No,’ and -closed my eyes quick, so’s the sand couldn’t get in; and when I opened -them the next minute it was quite morning--not yellow morning, you know, -but just the baby light that comes first. Then very soft, so’s not to -’sturb muvver, I crawled out of bed, ’cause it made me incontented to -lie still, and there was my stocking, full to the brim. I knew who’d -filled it--” She stopped in her recital to smile at him and to pat his -arm again. “Then I climbed up on a chair to take it down, and muvver -laughed out loud. ‘Come back to bed, dear my little own,’ she said; -‘bring the stocking, and cuddle down warm and snug in blanket land.’ So -I did; and she kissed me and I kissed her, and we both said ‘Merry -Christmas’ to each uver. She went fast asleep again, but cert’inly you -couldn’t expect a little girl could sleep. I felt all my presents; -muvver says us little folks have eyes in our finger tips; and every -minute the light grew brighter, and then--I really saw! Dear, dear Santa -Claus, how could you ’member just what I wanted?” She rubbed her -dimpling cheek ecstatically against the old sleeve. “But you didn’t put -anything in muvver’s stocking,” she added softly. - -He could not meet her reproachful glance. - -“’Twas in a hurry I was,” he mumbled, “an’ me bastes shtampin’ widout in -the cowld--” - -“Oh, she didn’t know,” the child interrupted, “’cause when she was tight -asleep I found her stocking, and I put that very rosy-cheeked apple -you’d put in mine quite far, far down in hers, and some nuts, too. -Cert’inly I couldn’t give her the little doll or the picture book, -’cause grown-ups don’t care for such things, really; but things to eat -are different. You don’t mind, do you?” - -He did not answer. For the moment it almost seemed as if he had not -heard. His head was turned quite away. - -“And she was s’prised--oh! you can’t think--and glad, too; so glad her -eyes got all shiny and bright. But you can’t guess what happened next. -She said, ‘Bless my Santa Claus.’ Wasn’t that funny? And then she kissed -me most ’s if she ’spected.” - -Danny and Whitefoot felt a sudden queer twitch on the reins--a -compelling touch that made them both swerve out of the direction they -were taking. It was almost as if their driver meant them to turn around. -Much earlier in the day, when they first left Wistar’s, for instance, -such a command would not have appeared singular; but coming at a time -when the tavern lay so far behind as to be forgotten, when the world -seemed a blanket of drift and down and glistening silver, with no house -in sight, the action was at least puzzling to their equine minds. They -stopped instantly, however, the noise of their bells hushed into -silence. Whitefoot turned a wondering face upon his master, and almost -immediately Danny looked protestingly around. The man met their gaze -half guiltily. Beyond--oh, very far beyond--lay Merle, with its -Christmas fun,--Merle, where he must be that night, or his name would be -the jibe of the countryside; and back of them--a good twelve miles, -perhaps fifteen, they had jogged on at such a steady pace--was that -solitary house. If he turned round it must be good-by to Merle; it would -be impossible for Danny and Whitefoot to make the journey again without -rest. He shifted the reins from one hand to the other. - -“Why are we stopping?” asked the child. - -He looked at her in some perplexity, then his brow cleared. - -“To give the bastes their feed; they’re perishin’ wid hunger, so they -are, the saints fergive me,” he answered, in a relieved tone, glad to -postpone his decision for a time. - -He threw back the robes as he spoke, and sprang out on the ground. Where -they had stopped the narrow, lane-like road widened for a considerable -space into a plain again and a well, not far distant from the track, now -furnished water for the team, after which a bag at the back of the -sleigh poured forth grain into the pails; and when these were set before -the horses they fell to work as if Terry’s words were in danger of -coming true. The child watched the proceedings with wide eyes. - -“They’re only just very woolly horses, after all,” she said, with a -tinge of disappointment in her voice, “in the books they’re reindeer.” - -“Sure, the reindeers is at home savin’ up forninst this night. I cudn’t -be dhrivin’ thim in the broad daylight, alanna dear; folks wud think us -a thravellin’ circus widout the elefunt. Begorra, ’tis shtarvin’ I am -mesilf, an’ I’ll take my Alfred-Davy ye’re in the same boat. We’ll be -afther havin’ a snack oursilves an’ a dhrop av somethin’ warmin’. Tumble -back into the sleigh, mavourneen, an’ wrap yoursilf up clost till I -shpread the tablecloth ag’inst the bankquid.” - -The tablecloth, as was speedily disclosed, was nothing more than a very -greasy newspaper, which was wrapped around a huge pile of sandwiches, -each with a rim of bacon showing darkly between its thick slices of -bread, a hunk of cheese, and some fat crackers; but the finest damask -under other circumstances would not have seemed half so beautiful in her -eyes. And she had no quarrel with the coarse fare. Hunger, after all, is -the best sauce for appetite that can be served with any meal, and it is -more apt to come in with the plain dishes than with the elaborate ones, -as Santa Claus and his little sweetheart proved. - -“Faith, I cud ate a nail wid relish if nothin’ else was handy,” he -laughed, as he made his first onslaught on the sandwich he was holding, -and lessened it by a third, “but this is a dish to set before a king, so -tinder an’ tasty as it is. Take a rale thry at it, me darlint; ye do be -nibblin’ sech little grand lady bites ye’ll niver be t’rough. ’Tis wan -sandwidge I’ve put away already, an’ ye but embarkin’ on the top roof av -yours. Here’s the second to kape ye comp’ny, Brown Eyes.” He took an -enormous mouthful, and smiled at her, while he was rendered speechless, -and she smiled back, mute, too, from a similar reason. - -“Did ye iver taste betther?” he made out to ask. - -“Never,” she answered promptly; and she really spoke the truth. Sawdust -eaten in such companionship would have seemed as palatable as sugar, -and the present food was like the ambrosia of the high gods. Even those -delicious sandwiches that her mother made for her sometimes, with the -little slice of ham blushing faintly between the dainty pieces of bread -where the butter lay like a filmy, glistening veil, had never seemed so -good and satisfying as these big grown-up ones eaten under the high blue -sky in that country of snow and ice. - -As soon as the sandwiches had disappeared Santa Claus covered a cracker -with bits of cheese like nuggets of gold, and presented it to her with a -bow as if she were a queen. It seemed a fitting crown to the feast, -though apparently he had quite other ideas of a crown, as was soon -shown. When the crackers and cheese were all eaten, and even the last -crumb chased home and captured, he put his hand into the breast of his -coat and drew out a flat, dark bottle which he regarded with loving -eyes. - -“Here’s me beauty,” he cried; “here’s what’s to top aff a faste a king -wudn’t disdain; here’s something he wudn’t give the go-by to, not he!” - -“What is it?” the little maid asked curiously. - -“What is it? Troth, ’twud take an hour by the clock to tell all the -names it has the wurrld over; an’ some is good, an’ some is bad--the -names, I’m manin’. Merry-go-down an’ Tangle-legs,--that’s shlander’us! -an’ Water av Health, an’ Odivvy, as the Frenchies say, which is the same -as Water av Life; but I’m not so much fer water in it mesilf, likin’ it -nate. Then there’s Oil av Gladness an’--Sure ye shall have the first -taste, mavourneen, as ’tis fit an’ proper--ladies always lead. Come, -shtand up an’ give us the toast--” - -“The toast--” she looked around bewildered; “why, we’ve eaten all the -bread, and there isn’t any fire--” - -“This is the fire an’ the bread too,” roared Santa Claus. “Bless your -innercent sowl, me dear, ’tis a propysition I’m afther askin’ ye fer. -Whist now, the fellies at the tavern sit ’round, an’ before they drink -wan will git up an’ say, a-wavin’ av his glass, ‘Here’s to him’--namin’ -some wan prisint; or ‘Here’s to honist hearts an’ true;’ or ‘Here’s to -thim at home, God love thim!’ an’ we all drink to it. So now thin, -Swate Eyes, spake quickly, an’ drink long, an’ pass the bottle spadily -if ye love me, fer iv’ry minnit’s an hour till it quinches me thirst.” - -She got to her feet quite gravely, her eyebrows drawn together in the -little pucker they always made when she was thinking very hard; and -first she looked up at the sky, and then around at the stretch of land -where the sparkles under the crusted snow flashed like so many -imprisoned diamonds, and then at the sky again as if for inspiration. -Finally her glance rested upon him, leaning forward, regarding her with -his merry smile. - -“Why, here’s to you,” she cried, “our very own, ownest Santa Claus.” - -She tipped the bottle against her lips as she finished speaking, gurgled -a little, choked, spluttered-- - -“Saints above! child, howld your hand stiddy,” Terry shouted. “’Tis your -hood-shtrings an’ your coat as is gettin’ all that precious elixir, an’ -iv’ry dhrop av it a jool.” - -“Oh, take it away very quick,” she gasped. “I’m sorry to spill it, but -it’s most dreffly horrid.” - -“Aisy, me darlint, aisy! There’s no accountin’ fer tastes, as the ould -woman said when she kissed her cow. It’s a quare wurrld this is; but -sure, ’tis a most glorious dispinsation av Providince that we don’t all -be thinkin’ alike. See! I’ll have to take your share as well as me own. -An’ first, here’s me hand on me heart to your toast, an’ the honor av -it; ’tis proud I am at this minnit, an’ next, here’s to -ye--shtandin’--here’s to the best thing a man can have in this -wurrld,--the love av a little child.” - -She stood up facing him, and bowed as he had done. - -“Here’s me hand on me heart to your toast,” she echoed, “an’ the honor -of it, ’tis proud I am at this minute.” - -Then she climbed back on the seat and watched him with round eyes as he -tilted his head very far back and took a deep draught. If his attack on -the sandwiches had astonished her, this new conduct awakened all her -wonder. As he took the bottle from his lips he uttered a sigh which -immediately slipped into a loud guffaw at sight of her expression. - -“You can’t like it,” she shuddered. - -“I’m not quarrellin’ wid the taste,” he answered, “an’ annyway, ’tis by -the docthor’s orders I do be takin’ a dhrop av the crayther, to kape the -cold out an’ the warm in. A nip once in jest so often, the wise ould man -sez, an’ don’t improve on the occasions, mind ye! But sure, there’s a -toast I haven’t yet given, an’ that’s to our next merry meetin’, an’ may -it come sooner than ’tis expected.” - -He neither looked nor bowed her way; indeed, the words were addressed to -his familiar spirits, and his eyes were fixed solely upon what he held -in his hand. After a moment he put the bottle back in his breast, and -buttoned his coat securely across. - -“An’ now to juty, swateheart,” he cried, springing out of the sleigh, -“the raypast is over, an’ the horses have gorged thimsilves like -magisthrates, the rapaycious gossoons! Come, be shpry, an’ lind a hand -wid the pails.” - -She did not wait to be told twice, but bustled around delightedly, -helping him stow the buckets among the dingy bags and barrels which -formed the prosaic load this Santa Claus carried. - -“Jest food forninst to-morry fer the shantymen,” he explained, as she -prodded the bulging sacks with inquisitive fingers. “They axed me to -fetch along their Christmas dinner. Oh, they knowed their man. An’ I, -that obligin’, cudn’t say no till thim. If I’d hardened me heart like -Phareyo we wudn’t be knowin’ aitch other this blessed minnit; so ’tis -glad I am that I’m mild as a mid-summer night by nature an’ -dishposition. Let’s limber up a bit afore we shtart ag’in on our -thravels; ’tis shtiff I am in the fate av me. All hands down the middle, -sashy to corners. Gintlemin, take your pardners--gintlemin twirl your -gurrls! Ladies change!” - -He roared out the calls, as he had so often done in the different -taverns when he sat with his fiddle beneath his chin and played such -enlivening strains that nobody who heard them could keep still. This -time, however, he was going to cut pigeon-wings himself, and do -wonderful double-shuffles; and he needed both hands to swing his little -thistledown of a partner, so the old fiddle lay undisturbed in the -bottom of the sleigh, while he whistled and sang the tunes with great -gusto. - -It was a scene unlike any he had ever known. Instead of the long, low -rooms with the candles, set a-row in bottles, spluttering through the -haze of dust and giving out, besides their meagre light, a smell of -dripping tallow, where the air was noisy with the scraping and pounding -of many feet, and shouts and laughter rose on every side, was this wide, -beautiful place with its pure white carpet and the roof of blue far, far -above. Its remote walls were hung with white, where the low hills -climbed skyward. And nearer, where the woods began, tall snow-crowned -trees stood, their branches shining with frost. Clumps of bushes, with -here and there a stunted isolated tree, dressed in the same glittering -garments, took on fantastic shapes as if they were spectators; nor were -they the only ones,--the furtive little people of the forest in feathers -and fur peeped out from their shelter to watch with all their eyes, and -then to murmur under their breaths: “How mad these mortals be!” - -Terry stood at one side of the road some distance beyond the sleigh, and -opposite him, her face aglow with excitement, her eyes like twin stars, -the child waited. As he bowed with a great flourish, bringing his old -cap to rest over his heart, she swept him a curtsey so low that her -skirts stood stiffly out on the ground,--“a cheese” she would have -called it; then the next instant she sprang to her feet again and poised -on tip-toe, watching eagerly for his signal. - -“Now,” he called, “now, thin, darlint, ready.” - -She raised her right hand high in air, as if to meet the one he extended -toward her, and skimmed across the shimmering floor close, close to him; -their fingers met, clasped, parted--and she was in his place and he in -hers. Then dipping, bowing, swaying, they advanced, retreated, advanced -again; passed each other, now disdaining hands, each twisting and -turning alone as if the other did not exist; then repentant, meeting, -joining forces, and with hands crossed, setting off together--oh! happy -word--in swift sliding steps that scarcely touched the ground, so light -they seemed; and up the road and down the road they went, laughing, -shouting, singing. It was the maddest, merriest dance! The snow whirled -up from their flying feet in soft clouds, and lo! each tiniest particle -was a fairy; the air was full of graceful bending shapes fluttering here -and there, there and here, until at last, quite tired out, they dropped -to earth again to twinkle and sparkle, chattering softly to one another -of the fun they had had. Only an old man and a small child light of -heart and heels dancing out there in the wide country, do you say? Oh, -no! oh, no! Santa Claus and his little sweetheart; and, as if that were -not happiness enough, there were the others besides,--the snow fairies -(and no dancers are like them anywhere), and the spirits of the plains -sending back the gay music and laughter, and the spirits that dwell in -the woods in their soft shadowy robes winding between the trees in a -stately measure, and the spirits of the wind laughing softly among the -snow-laden, ice-gemmed branches, and the spirit of the high blue sky -smiling down on everything. - -Hitherto the little maid had only danced by herself, or with her shadow, -or her dolls,--those rather unsatisfactory partners whose limp legs went -every which way; but she was happy at all times because she kept the -fairy, Content, in her breast. Now joy came to her in larger fashion. -She waved her hand to sparkling earth and smiling sky as she darted up -and down like some belated butterfly caught tenderly up into the heart -of winter, a bit of glowing color. She saw the dancers in the -clearing,--young eyes are sharp eyes, surely!--and I think she caught -glimpses, too, of the shy woodland creatures peering out in open-mouthed -amazement; she blew a kiss toward them, anyway. Tired? Not a bit. Tired? -She could dance forever. Faster, faster, faster, like the little red top -at home she spun, and then slower, slow-er, and more slowly. The little -top always did that just before it hummed off to sleep. Faster again, -slow--Two strong arms caught her and flung her up quite high toward the -sky; how blue it was! Then--how blue Santa Claus’ eyes were, and how -they twinkled, giving back the picture of herself! She laughed into them -gayly, and his deep merriment echoed her flute-like notes. Swiftly he -carried her to the sleigh, wrapped her close in the thick rug again, -then sprang to his place, and gathered up the reins. - -“Och, ’tis the most thriminjious shtepper-out ye are,” he cried. “’Twas -the iligantest shport in the wurrld, bar none. Go on, me b’ys.” - -Jingle, jangle went the bells; sober music surely, after what had gone -before. It was like the little tune when the dance is done and the -lights are burning low that, no matter how jolly it may be, still sounds -sad, because in and out of its lilt run the words: “Good-by, pleasure, -good-by.” - -Jingle, jangle clashed the bells as Danny and Whitefoot settled very -gravely to their work. On and on they went, through the woods and over -the barren stretches, but always toward the north. There was no thought -of turning back. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -EXIT SANTA CLAUS - - -The air bit more keenly, for the afternoon was wearing on; already the -dazzling sparkles had vanished from the snow, and rosy sunbeams slipped -among the glistening tree shafts and lay with the tall shadows upon the -ground of the forest aisles. She nestled closer against him. - -“Tell me some more,” she urged. - -“Sure, ’tis me hist’ry from the cradle up that I’m afther tellin’ ye, -’tis your turn now. I don’t know so much as your name, though I do be -runnin’ away wid ye.” - -“Muvver calls me heart-names--I telled you what; and uncle says -E-lis-a-beth when he’s cross, uvver times, child, or Betty. I wroted it -at the end--Betty Hammond. It was just make b’lieve writing, only I -thought you’d know--” - -“Aisy, swateheart, aisy! Av coorse I did.” - -“You got it, didn’t you?” she demanded, sitting bolt upright, and facing -him as the possibility of a dreadful mischance took possession of her -whole being. - -“What do ye mane, mavourneen?” - -“Why, the letter I wroted; oh, ever so long ago,--the letter that went -up the chimbly. I saw it fly away. Muvver says that’s the children’s -post-box ev’rywheres.” - -A light dawned upon him; not, alas, from his own childhood, which had -been poor and sordid enough, and held no such golden make-believes, -though in other ways he had entered into the beautiful kingdom to the -utter forgetting of cold and hunger, want and sorrow, but from what he -had heard here and there from little lips in his long journey through -life. He had always been the children’s friend. He looked into her -anxious eyes, therefore, and winked slowly. - -“Whist, now! your Christmas letther,” he said, “an’ that’s what,--the -wan that towld me how to set to work. Come, say the list over slow till -I see if we both mane the same thing.” - -She put up her hand, and dragged his head down until his ear was on a -level with her lips; then she poured in the secret, interrupted by happy -bursts of laughter. - -“Begorra, the stockin’ will have to be made av injy rubber, or’t will -burrst intoirely.” - -“I’m going to put a chair under,” she confided hurriedly, “and if the -things won’t go quite in you can leave them there. Did you ’member ’em -all? The little crosses low on the paper I meant for kisses, you know.” - -“Howly St. Pathrick! I was afther thinkin’ they was extrys.” - -“You must get a most ’normous lot of letters,” she said thoughtfully, a -moment later. - -“’Twould be aisier countin’ the sands on the sayshore than to count -thim,” he answered, entering heartily into his rôle of the jolly saint, -“me secretarries an’ under-secretarries niver rest at all; they do be -dhroppin’ wid fatague, the poor fellies! ’Tis entries they have to make, -an’ double-entries, an’ charges an’ counter-charges, an’ I must give -each wan my speshul suprevision--” - -“Do you burn our letters up after you’ve read them?” - -“Do I look like a man as wud desthroy his love-letters, alanna, fer -that’s what they are? Not me! I’ve the walls av me mansion papered wid -thim, an’ I’ve autygraph quilts an’ tablecloths made out av thim, an’ -curt’ins to me doors an’ windys, an’ sofy-pillers an’ chair-sates,--oh, -’tis an injaneyus mind I have. Sure, the shtuff av drames makes foine -wearin’ material, an’ don’t ye fergit it. I had to build an appindix to -me house year before last, an’ last year there was an addenda, an’ this -year I’m goin’ to t’row out an L, an’ if things continny the same I’ll -have to add the whole alphabet before I know it.” - -“Of course it must be a big place to keep all the toys of the world -there.” - -“Whist, me darlint, no house in the wurrld wud be big enough to howld -all the toys an’ all the drames av the childer too; an’ I’d sooner be -havin’ the latter than the former anny day. ’Tis as much as I can manage -to kape me autygraph collection intacks, so I have workin’ drawin’s av -the toys, an’ the big dipartmintal shtores in the cities an’ towns an’ -villidges do kape the rale articles. An’ by the same token I’ve me -dep-puties stationed iv’rywhere to git things ready forninst me comin’, -an’ thin I can make the journey wid the spade av the wind--” - -Her head dropped against his arm. - -“Not Whitefoot and Danny,” she said drowsily, “but Dancer and Prancer -and Vixen,--I like Vixen best in the picture; then there’s On-come-et, -and--” - -She didn’t finish her sentence, and he, looking down, discovered the -reason. - -“The darlint,” he said. “Faith, ’tis tired out complately ye are, an’ -the slape will refresh ye. Cuddle clost, mavourneen. ’Tis a day fer a -notch on the shtick annyway, an’ I’ll niver fergit it.” - -He tucked the rugs about her as tenderly as her mother could have done, -though his fingers were clumsy, and unused to such offices. Then, after -he had seen to her comfort, he bethought himself of his own, and had a -merry meeting with that Other,--quite a longish meeting this time,--and -he murmured the same toast, repeating the words again and again with -funny little nods by way of emphasis. After which he fell to singing, -rather loudly, the diverting history of “Kelly’s Cat”:-- - - “It was on a Sunday evenin’--I’ll mind it evermore, - Whin Paddy Kelly wint to bed an’ fergot to bar the door, - The cat riz up an’ shook hersilf widout either dread or fear, - An’ over the hollow to Barney’s she quickly thin did steer. - The night bein’ cold an’ stormy, an’ the cat bein’ poor an’ thin, - An’ the windy, it bein’ open, she--” - -He broke off here, his chin falling forward on his chest. Danny and -Whitefoot, however, were used to his ways, and knew their own duty too -well to stop because the reins fell so slack on their backs; they jogged -on quite as steadily as if he were awake. It was a lonely country where -there was little travel, so there was no fear of meeting any one and no -reason for turning out; all they had to do was to keep on. Presently he -stirred and opened his eyes. - -“’Tis forty winks I’ve been havin’, an’ they’ve made a new man av me,” -he said, with a prodigious yawn. “But begorra, I dramed me arrm was -held in the grip av a monsther. ’Tis useless an’ shtiff it is this very -minnit. Faith, ’tis as sound aslape as if ould Pickett was tellin’ wan -av his wurrld widout ind shtories. Arrah! wake up wid ye--” - -He started to jerk his arm free, and glanced down with some impatience; -but the sight of what rested there made him pause. So that was the -monster he had dreamed was holding him fast! He had forgotten the child -for the moment, forgotten, too, the part he was playing; then everything -came back with a rush as he gazed at her peaceful little face. - -“Sure, ’tis no shtiffness at all, at all,” he muttered. “What’s the -weight av a feather fer a man to complain av? ’Tis like the touch av an -angel’s wing, so it is, an’ proud I am to fale it,--proud an’ plazed. -Lie shtill, _Cushla machree_, lie shtill.” - -But she had been partially aroused by his attempt to ease himself, and -very obligingly changed her position, cuddling down on the seat. He -helped to fix her anew, murmuring fond little phrases, and as her -eyelids fluttered open he bade her go to sleep again. She obeyed without -question; the air made her very drowsy, and the steady forward motion of -the sleigh was like the lulling of a cradle. He began to sing again -almost immediately, though in a subdued key, and still about “Kelly’s -Cat.” But he took scant pleasure in the song; half of its fun lay in -hearing the laughter it always evoked, and he missed her silvery -merriment. To sing a comic song just for one’s own amusement is rather -dreary work, after all. Everything is better when it is shared; a laugh -is always jollier, and even the heaviest sorrow will grow lighter at a -true word of sympathy. - -He did not complete the history of the celebrated combat, therefore, but -after a few lines brought it to a close and began something else. Then, -before he knew it, a song that had lived in the background of his memory -for many years found its way, for the little child’s sake, to his lips. -Curiously enough it didn’t seem to him that he was singing it, for -through the words he could hear his mother’s worn voice carrying the -tune forward, and his own voice, the best in all the country round for -trolling out a drinking catch or some fantastic rigamarole set to music, -grew so tender that the roisterers at Wistar’s, or up at Merle, would -never have recognized it. But if they could have heard him they wouldn’t -have laughed; the song would have been like a little key unlocking the -gates of childhood; even if the words had been unfamiliar to them the -sweet sounds would have taken them back. - -After he had finished singing he sat very still, one hand holding the -reins, the other resting gently on the warm little bundle at his side; -but his thoughts were far back in that distant past where, because of -his light heart, he only dwelt on the golden spots--and his nature had -made many such. Then he began to build some castles in that dear, -impossible, ever-true country where one may rear the most beautiful -houses and have them ready to be lived in in the wink of an eye; where -there are never any vexing questions of rent, or taxes, and one doesn’t -have to bother about gas, or electricity (such a wonderful lighting -system as they have there, by the way!), and there are never any repairs -to be made. Perhaps a prosaically minded architect would never have -called Terry’s dream-house a castle, but such sober matter-of-factness -is not to be envied. Very much happier are the people who live in the -clouds at times, though they do have many a tumble to earth, than the -ones who never see things through the rose-colored glasses of fancy, -but plod along in the dull light of a common grayness. - -Terry belonged to the first kind, and because his mind was still full of -the nonsense he had uttered to his companion he began to build a -beautiful palace where the dreams of little children could come true. On -every side he could see their wishes written plainly, sometimes in -copy-book writing, sometimes in big print, and sometimes again in those -funny, wavering uphill lines that Santa Claus never fails to read. And -everywhere he could hear merry laughter and shouts, and the sounds of -scrambling, racing feet. It was a beautiful palace! He chuckled to -himself, seeing it so distinctly, and then, suddenly--very -suddenly--just in front of him, a trifle at one side of the road, stood -a small, square house of the sort that your eminently practical, -no-thought-of-beauty contractor would build. Terry’s hand, reins and -all, went up to his eyes to clear the mist from before them. Impossible! -He knew the country as well as Danny and Whitefoot, and he knew, too, -that no such house stood there; the shantymen’s hut, the only human -habitation for miles, was still some distance off. He looked again -sharply, convinced that in the darkening land some snow-covered tree had -taken on the likeness to a building. And he was quite right--there was -no house. - -The bells smote the air sullenly and soberly as the horses started once -more on their patient, even course; they did not merit the sharp flap of -the reins on their backs,--they were doing their best. Terry tried to go -on with his dreams, but the thread of fancy once broken is hard to -recover; he caught bravely at it--and there stood the house again, -square, squat, unpicturesque, with the low stable at one side connected -by the covered way, as is the custom in cold countries. He rubbed his -eyes, and it was gone again--they had driven right through it! He -laughed, but not gayly. Two parts of him seemed to be dreaming--the one -that built a castle for little children, the other that thought of -solemn, elderly folk. He began to sing: - - “Now Mrs. McGrath to the Sargint said, - ‘Sure I’d like me son to be a corpril made, - Wid a foine rid coat an’ a goold laced hat-- - Och Tiddy me b’y, wuddent you like that? - Musha ti ral la--’” - -It was no use! The house was quite near him again, with its chimney -breathing out a soft little line of smoke, and its tin roof dull in the -level light--the roof that had flashed like a reproving eye hours -earlier. And then he knew! He turned and looked back fearfully. As far -as he could see there was no sign of life; before him it was the same -tale--even the house his fancy had conjured up had vanished. It was very -still save for the bells on his horses, and they were not clinking -merrily just then, only giving out a monotonous jog-trot sound that did -not deafen him to the faint voice crying very far away: “Dear my little -own, where are you?” He shivered among his furs, still looking back, and -sobbingly the words came again: “Dear my little own, where are you?” - -Danny and Whitefoot pawed the snow uneasily. Merle was still distant, -and they were anxious to be at rest; they even determined to pull more -steadily, more swiftly; they had been saving their best wind for that, -but the hand on the reins kept them still. - -“Och! wurra, wurra, that iver I shtooped to desate,” the old man -murmured. “What will I do wid juty sayin’ ‘go forrard,’ an’ juty sayin’ -‘go back’? ’Tis most thirty miles from the shantymen’s hut to that -lonely little house, an’ I can’t take the journey over ag’in. Whist -there, mither, wid your callin’ to the colleen, or ’tis cracked me heart -will be intoirely. Aisy now! the voice av you is far away loike, an’ yet -’tis plain as thunder in me ears. Sure, I thought the fun av the wurrld -was in this thing, an’ I meant no harm at all--whist there, mither dear! -They do be waitin’ fer me up at Merle,--thim an’ the Christmas fun--an’ -Christmas only comin’ wanst a year!--an’ there’s the wager besides. Och! -wurra, wurra, what will I do? I must go on, but ’tisn’t wid me the -darlint can be goin’.” - -He recognized that very clearly now when it was almost too late. His -home as the child dreamed of it and his home as it really was were two -very different things. He couldn’t take her to the tavern at Merle, with -its rough, carousing crowd--such fun was not for her--and he had nowhere -else to go. Then he thought of the road ever getting darker and darker, -of the frozen lake with its treacherous ice that he must cross, of the -night growing colder--he knew how to keep himself warm, but it was -another matter where she was concerned. And when he went driving into -Merle to claim his bet his hand might not be steady--that had happened -so often before! and there was that ugly bit just below the tavern, -where even the most careful driver must pick his way warily; but with a -little child--the thought made him giddy. No--no--no--he couldn’t take -her with him, that was impossible! And equally he saw, because he knew -himself so well, he couldn’t take her back to her mother’s longing arms. -He couldn’t go back! He sat quite still, turning over different plans in -his mind, while the precious minutes slipped by unheeded. Finally his -brow cleared a trifle. There was but one solution to the difficulty--the -lumbermen might help him--must help him; he would see that they had no -choice in the matter. As he reached this decision some of his old -reckless daring came back to him; but he bore himself in a shamefaced -fashion, and with none of his usual jauntiness, though he straightened -his shoulders, and tried to appear unconcerned. He began to whistle, -too, as if to silence the wailing cry that still pursued the sleigh--he -would not let himself listen. - -“Och! child,” he said, looking down at the little maid, “’tis sorry I am -fer ye, darlint, but ’twill all come right in the mornin’--throubles -always do. Whist now! ’tis sorriest I am fer mesilf, since I can’t help -mesilf at all--I bein’ what I am, ye see.” - -He put his hand into his coat, and though his fingers came in contact -with the flat bottle, they did not draw it forth; they groped farther, -past the inner coat and beneath the blouse, to something that hung -against his chest suspended from a cord. When he brought out his hand it -held a dingy little bag. He stripped off the outer covering, disclosing -a cheap gilt locket and the half of a broken sixpence. With shaking -fingers he took a wisp of hair from the trinket, and wrapping it up -again thrust it back into his breast; but the locket and the coin he -folded in a bit of newspaper, and stooped once more to the child. - -“Sure, it ain’t a dolly that will shut its eyes, mavourneen, that I do -be givin’ ye fer a Christmas gift,” he whispered; “but mebbe ye’ll like -it fer the sake av wan as loved it. An’ God Almighty an’ all the howly -saints bless ye feriver an’ iver, amin.” - -She stirred at his touch and opened her eyes, misty still with sleep. -For a moment she looked at him in some doubt, then, as she struggled -into a sitting position, she laughed gayly. - -“Oh! it’s really and truly you.” Her glance swept their surroundings. -“And are we home now--at your very home? Is that it?” - -The walls of the lumbermen’s hut showed indistinctly through the -clearing. It was almost dark; the night that comes swiftly in the north -lands was folding its mantle like a great soft wing over the whole -country, though in the west there was still a faint streak of rose, as -if the day was sorry to go, and so it lingered in that little tender -time between the lights, when one can dream best of all. - -“Is that home?” she asked again, very softly. - -“Listen, Swateheart. But first take this wee packidge--Aisy, now! ye -mustn’t fale the edges--an’ shtow it away in your pocket if ye have -wan; ’tis not to be looked at, nor so much as prodded, mind ye, till -sunrise to-morry. Remimber! An’ second--faith, me second is hardest fer -me, fer ’tis good-by I must be sayin’.” - -Her lip trembled. - -“But I’m goin’ with you all the way,” she declared stoutly. - -“Sure, an’ I wish it from me heart, only ’tis partin’ we must be. Ye see -ye can go on, an’ Danny an’ Whitefut will be proud to draw ye; but ’tis -’most night, an’ the way gets bad up yonder, an’ there’s the lake to -cross, an’ I’m not always the stiddy driver--to me shame be it said--” - -“I’d sit very still--” - -“An’ ’twill be cold, bitther cold! Thin I’ve been thinkin’, I didn’t -tell ye this afore; but no child has iver seen me house--’tis a thing av -drames (an’ sure that’s the truth!). Whisper now, cud ye see it, it wud -all split to smither-eens wid a crack like doom. An’ where wud I be -thin? The folks wud have to do widout me, I’m thinkin’--” - -“The little children--us?” she asked round-eyed. - -“That wud be the size av it. Av coorse ye could kape on wid the -dep-puties; I’ve trained thim well, an’ the spirit av Christmas niver -dies, the givin’ an’ the lovin’, fer the Lord made thim in his own -imidge. But ye’d be missin’ me, ye know.” - -She was very still, the little pucker showing between her anxious -brows. - -“I’ve an iligint plan. Yon’s a foine place to spind the night, an’ -iv’rything will come right in the mornin’. Oh! ye’ll see. An’ ye’ll hang -up your shtockin’ same as usuwil; but first ye must put that bit there -down in the toe av it, an’ ’twill be Merry Christmas all ’round. Will ye -tell me good-by now, swateheart, an’ let me go on to kape me wurrd that -I’ve been afther passin’ sacred-loike?” - -“Yes,” she said gravely. “I wanted to see Vixen and Oncome-it close, but -I’ll let you go, ’count o’ the children, ev’rywheres.” - -He lifted her gently to the ground, and she stood quietly at one side -while he tumbled out the barrel and the bags from the back of the sleigh -with great caution. He could not stay for a word; already he had much -time to make up, and discussion of any sort, hospitality even, would -retard him. The light had quite disappeared from the west, and a few -pale stars--God’s candles, he called them--were beginning to kindle in -the dark above. He stooped to her. - -“Whin I’m gone, _Cushla machree_, ye’ll go to the door an’ they’ll let -ye in--they’re foine fellies. ’Tis but a shtep up there annyhow; ye -can’t niver miss it--see, where the rid light shows t’rough the cracks. -An’ ye’ll not ferget me, little wan?” - -“No--no,” she choked. - -He caught her in his arms and kissed her; but though he held her very -close, he could not see her face well because of the misty curtain that -had dropped suddenly before his eyes. In that moment he realized how -far, how very far, below her thought of him he really was. He put her -down almost roughly, detaching the little clinging fingers with scant -tenderness, and sprang into the sleigh. An instant, from that vantage -point, he looked her way; then Danny and Whitefoot, surprised into using -their best wind by a fierce sting of the whip, dashed into the dark, -their bells swinging out a sharp, tremulous cry of bronze that cut the -air like a knife. - -“Good-by,” she called in a breaking voice. - -And back from the distance came the answer: - -“Good-by, little swateheart. God love ye an’--” - -She stood waiting, listening to the bells that grew faint and fainter -until they were like a chime from Fairyland; when at last her loving -ears could hear them no longer she turned and trotted obediently to the -house. The door was closed, but a narrow thread of light glimmered -warmly at the sill, and a tiny fiery eye peeped out half way up the dark -surface. She struck the wood with her little clinched fist; struck it -once, then again--a twig snapping off in the teeth of the frost would -have sounded louder. - -From within there came the noise of many voices and great bursts of -laughter, but no lessening of the merriment made room for her appeal. - -[Illustration: She stood waiting, listening to the bells.] - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -CHRISTMAS EVE AT THORNBY’S - - -It was a large, roughly-finished room, lighted for the most part by the -great heap of logs that blazed on the hearth, though a lantern fixed -against the wall, at the opposite side, in front of a tin reflector, -shone bravely, as if to say that it was doing its best despite the fact -that no one heeded its efforts. For the occupants of the room, without -an exception, were gathered about the camboose, or fireplace, where in -the full glow of the leaping flames a number of stockings were hung; not -because it was Christmas Eve, but for the more prosaic reason that they -must be dried. Every working day showed the same display,--the men, on -an average, hanging up two or three pairs apiece. Still they were -keeping their Christmas Eve vigil after a fashion, though it was not in -the orthodox way, and, notwithstanding its noise, it lacked the real -flavor of the blessed season. - -“What was that?” Shawe asked suddenly. - -“Didn’t hear a blessed thing. Fire ahead, Sandy; ev’ry chap’s got a -stunt to do this night, an’ the fust lot’s fell to you. Come, -begin--Where’s that lazy raskill Terry? He’d oughter be’n here hours -agone.” - -“Back at Wistar’s,” a young fellow growled. “Told yer what to expect -when yer singled him out to fetch the grub. A sorry Christmas we’ll -have. Any meal left in the bar’l, Cooky?” - -“’Nough to make pap fer you in the mornin’, kid,” Cooky responded with a -grunt, “so don’t be sheddin’ tears--you an’ yer delikit appetite will -pull t’rough. ’Tis plum-puddin’ the child was expectin’.” - -The young fellow laughed almost good-naturedly. - -“Gorry! what’d I give to smell a plum-puddin’ even. There was a -Christmas oncet when I’d the taste o’ one. There was turkey before, an’ -the bird was a tip-topper, but it don’t live in my mem’ry like the -puddin’. _That_ come in with a wreath o’ greens ’bout its brown head, -an’ its sides crackin’ open with plums the size o’ Jake’s thumb there. -An’ there was clouds o’ incinse risin’ from it, an’ the smell o’ the -burnin’ sperits, an’ the blue flames lickin’ each other with joy at the -taste they got--’Tis before my eyes this bloomin’ minnit, an’ my ears is -deafened with the roars the fellers sent up; you could ha’ heard ’em a -mile off--” - -A chorus of protesting voices interrupted further reminiscences. “Shut -up, will yer?” “T’row him out, some one.” “You’ve no call to make our -mouths water so.” - -“A pudden,” a thin-faced man said dreamily as the din subsided, “I never -seed its like. An’ a-fire, you say. What was thet fer?” - -“Why, fer the celebration, ijit.” - -“Begorra,” another voice broke in, “I’d like to live in the counthry -where they’ve the crayther to burn. Did it smell good?” - -“Smell good?” again the young fellow laughed. “’Twas better than a -gardin full o’ roses when the wind blows soft an’ warm over ’em; ’twas -finer an’ more penatratin’ than the o-dick-alone the tenderfoots parfume -themselves with. An’ there was the sarse besides, with a dash o’ rum in -it to make it slip down easier.” - -“Sarse!” The ejaculation was a groan. “My things come plain.” - -“Thet’s about the size o’ it fer ev’ry mother’s son of us,” some one -began philosophically, then in helpless rage at the turn affairs had -taken he finished with a wail: “Hang thet Terry O’Connor. He’d oughter -remembered tomorrer’s Christmas--” - -“Christmas is like any other day to us,” an elderly chopper interposed -grimly. “It’s only meant fer the kids.” - -A man near the fire stirred restlessly. - -“Back there,” he said, with a sweep of his thumb, “they hang up the -stockin’s all in a row--six of ’em!--an’ my woman makes shift to fill -’em, too--” - -“How they chitter in the mornin’,” another man chimed in, “before it’s -reely light. Don’ know as there’s any sound quite so nice as that. Wisht -I was home to hear it--Gord! I do.” - -“Never hed no little stockin’ hangin’ afore my chimbly,”--the occupant -of the big barrel chair looked into the blaze thoughtfully as he made -the statement, “baby’s sock was too teeny that fust year, an’ after--” - -“Faith, I niver had no chimbly av me own at all,” a reckless voice -interrupted with a hard laugh. “Here to-day, an’ gone to-morrer, an’ -divil a sowl to care where I was. It made little differ to me thin, but -’tis a wide wurrld an’ a lonely wan when a man’s gittin’ on in the -years.” - -“Only got so fur ez the patty-cakin’ age, ez you might say,”--it was the -man in the barrel chair who was speaking again,--“but turr’ble -over-masterin’--turr’ble! When ye come to think uv it, there ain’t -anything like a baby fer over-masterin’ness; he jes’ makes a clean sweep -o’ ev’ry blessed thing.” - -The Frenchman in the corner leaned forward excitedly. - -“I nevaire hang ze stockin’ up zat time I was what you call a keed,” he -cried, “but zere was a leetle tree an’ a Christ chil’ up at ze ver’ top. -Zey had eet een ze _église_ an’ every chil’ een ze pareesh was made ver’ -happy. So for two-t’ree years did I get a--a--what you say?” - -“A present, Frenchy.” - -“But yes, a--a prresent. Zen I must go to worrk, an’ Christmas eet is -ovaire for me. ‘_Adieu, beaux jours de mon enfance!_’” - -The leaping firelight fell upon grave faces; dear, lazy laughter had -slipped very far away from the warmth and glow. - -“What’s that?” - -“You’re like an ould faymale widdy woman, Shawe, wid your fidgits an’ -starts, an’ your inquisitiveness. That? ’Tis an ash fallin’ to the -hearth; ’tis a burd askin’ to be let in; ’tis Christmas come to hunt us -up far from home an’ the frien’s we love so dear. Man alive! if you’re -so set to know what it is, go an’ find out fer yoursilf.” - -“Yes, go an’ be hanged to you!” The chorus was unanimous. - -Shawe did not wait for the permission, go he would; as for being hanged, -that was quite another matter. He left his place in the warm corner, -and, picking his way dexterously over the tangle of outstretched legs, -he strode across the room to the door, flinging it wide. The cold air -rushed in in a great gust that caused the men to shiver in their -places, and made some of them swear angrily at him; but he did not heed -their words. His ear had earlier caught a faint cry, yet as he stood -facing the night his level eyes saw nothing in the darkness; then the -sound came again, and this time quite far below him. His glance fell; -the next moment he started back in amazement. - -“My God!” he cried sharply. - -There was a great creaking of stools and boxes in the room behind him as -the men, startled out of their indifference by his exclamation, turned -to see what had occasioned it, those who were farthest away rising to -their feet and craning curiously over the shoulders of their companions -in front. Shawe had moved a trifle to one side, and they had an -unobstructed view through the open door, that framed the glimpse of the -dark world without, of the strip of snow in the foreground gleaming -ruddily with lamp and firelight; and just where the glow fell brightest -stood a little child, her face raised in entreaty. For a long moment -they looked with held breaths, incredulous, wondering, half fearful that -the vision would disappear at the least movement on their part; several -of their number made the quick sign of their creed, and one man covered -his eyes with a shaking hand, but no one spoke. Then Shawe stooped to -her. - -“Who are you?” he asked very gently, touching the little flesh-and-blood -shoulder with tender fingers; she was no spirit then. - -“I’m Santa Claus’ sweetheart,--you know Santa Claus. He left some things -for you out there, then he went away.” - -“Mother o’ Moses! the child must mane Terry,” one of the men, quicker -than the rest, exclaimed. “The ould riprobate! An’ but fer your ears, -Shawe, she might ha’ be’n froze shtiff fer all we’d knowed--an’ -Christmas Day to-morrer.” - -Shawe drew his breath hard. - -“Thank God, I did hear,” he said through his closed teeth; then he -lifted the small stranger in his arms, and as the thronging men fell -back on either side he carried her through the little lane thus formed -up to the fire. He put her down gently and knelt before her, chafing her -hands and face with rapid touches; after a few moments thus spent he -set clumsily to work to unfasten her hood and coat. She kept very still -while he knotted instead of unknotting the strings, only her eyes moving -from face to face frankly curious, yet without an atom of fear in their -glance. There were forty pairs of eyes to meet, and in each she left a -little smile. - -At last the outer wrappings were cast aside, and, as Betty stood before -them, a small, slim figure, very different in appearance from the -shapeless, roly-poly bundle of a short time previous, with her fair hair -ruffled into little curls and tendrils that made a soft nimbus about her -head, she seemed even more like some lovely spirit than they, awed by -the strangeness of her coming, had thought her. Yet her first action -was quite sufficient to remove all doubts that she belonged to another -sphere. Those inquisitive eyes of hers, taking a survey of the room and -its inmates, lighted suddenly upon the stockings dangling before the -fire; they widened at the sight, then the smiles brimmed over and her -whole face broke up into glee. How could she feel strange, or afraid, in -a place where--big, grown-up men though they all were--such signs of -expectancy were so openly displayed? She slipped from the protecting arm -and ran close to the hearth, clapping her hands in delight. - -“Oh! you’re all ready for Santa Claus,” she cried. “My! how he’ll have -to work--there’s such a ’normous lot. But he’ll fill ’em all.” She -threw out this balm in eager haste. “He’s truly coming; he said so. If -I’d gone home with him his house would have cracked to--to smither-eens, -so I stayed.” - -A deafening roar of laughter greeted her words and sent her, unerringly -as a homing bird, back to her first friend, who still knelt on the -floor; but resting against him her fears vanished almost instantly, and, -as she glanced around with renewed confidence, her pretty silvery laugh -tinkled out to join their rougher merriment. The men pressed closer, one -of them, the oldest, acting as spokesman. He was the man whose chimney -had never seen any Christmas stockings hanging before it, the baby’s -sock being too tiny in that far-away year; but he seemed to know better -than any of them how to ask just the right questions that would set free -the little tongue. Betty climbed gladly up on his knee, and from her new -perch poured forth an account of her wonderful adventures. - -It was the fault of her companions, surely, and not her own that the -things that were so real and true to her were like myths out of -Fairyland to them, because they had travelled farther down the stream of -time. Much of what she said was unintelligible to their dull, grown-up -minds; but if each word had been of gold they could not have waited for -it more eagerly; and when she stopped in her recital of that marvellous -journey to laugh at some remembrance of Santa Claus’ fooling, they -looked at one another, smiling in perfectest sympathy. Perhaps, after -all, they understood--who shall say? There was no interruption, except -when old Jerome hazarded some remark that helped on the tale; and the -only person to move was a tall, gaunt man, who bent mysteriously over -the fire and made something that smelled like--like the most delicious -thing in all the world. You have to ride for hours through the snow, and -feel the keen air in your face, and be as hungry as a bear into the -bargain, to know just what that is. - -By some remarkable law of coincidence the story and the cooking came to -an end at one and the same moment; nothing could have been more timely. -Betty’s whole attention was quickly transferred to the tin plate which -was placed before her; and her evident appreciation of the good things -of life was so keen that the lookers-on, who even in that short time had -learned that their rougher ways frightened her, laughed gently among -themselves. Well, they understood that too! While she was busy over her -supper, to the utter forgetting of her surroundings, several of the men -went outside to see if they could find any traces of the recreant Santa -Claus; they returned after a hasty search, bringing in the barrel and -bags--sufficient proof that Terry, despite all convictions, wise -head-shakings, and gloomy forebodings, had not failed them. He had kept -his word. But the mystery deepened--Who was the little maid? Aside from -her name, which was an unfamiliar one to them, they had not been able to -learn anything definite about her. The excited little brain only seemed -to live over the immediate past, in which Santa Claus had figured so -importantly; the fact that she was his sweetheart apparently outweighing -every other consideration. - -“Terry O’Connor hain’t a chick, nor child, an’ never hed,” old Jerome -declared stoutly, as somebody ventured this solution of the difficulty, -“nor there ain’t any kin b’longin’ to him--guess I orter know--I’ve -knowed him ’nintimut these thirty years--” - -“Losh, man!” interrupted Sandy, “then he just inveegled the bairn awa’, -makin’ oot he was Santa Claus. The e-normity of it!” - -“Oh, Terry must olluz be jokin’; it’s his way,” Jerome returned -tolerantly. With his arm around the small form, and the little golden -head resting on his breast, he was knowing one of the rare, happy -moments of his life; there could be scant condemnation from him under -the circumstances. - -Betty, who had been alternately blinking at the fire, and smiling -contentedly to herself for some time, now interrupted any dispute that -might have arisen concerning her absent friend by giving utterance to a -series of baby yawns. The discussion came to a speedy close, such signs -needing no interpretation to her hearers. - -“Don’t ye want to go to sleep, deary?” the old man asked. - -She signified her willingness without delay, though first her stocking -must be hung up among the others. He proceeded to draw it off; but -before that could be accomplished, he was let into the secrets the -buttons on your shoe always tell,--what you are to be, what you will -wear, and in what manner you will travel through life,--in carriage, -cart, wheelbarrow, or wagon. When this “sure-as-sure” knowledge had been -mastered he stripped off the stocking, and Shawe, imperiously summoned, -came close and put the wee packet, as she directed, way down in its very -toe; then he hung it up in the centre, where even the blindest deputy, -supposing Santa Claus unable to get round, would never have passed it -by. A rollicking little cheer went up at sight of the small red -stocking swinging slightly to and fro in the breath of the fire; but it -died away on the instant, for the child had slipped to the floor and -knelt there by the old man’s knee, her face hidden in her chubby hands. -Perhaps in the intense stillness she missed the voice that generally -guided hers, for there was a moment of hesitation on her part; then she -began to pray aloud, halting over the words: - - “Jesus, tender shepherd, hear me; - Bless thy little lamb to-night, - In the darkness be thou near me, - Keep me safe till morning light. - Let my sins be all forgiven, - Bless the friends I love so well, - Take me when I die to heaven, - There for ever with thee to dwell.” - -She paused, a moment: “And please, God, take care of muvver, and uncle, -and far-away daddy, and make Betty a good girl f’rever and ever. Amen.” - -It was very still all around; and usually when she finished her prayers -a soft cheek was laid against her own, while a soft voice echoed, -“Amen,” and that meant “my heart wants it to be exactly so!” Now, -however, no one spoke. Betty glanced wonderingly about as she rose to -her feet, a trifle dazed and even frightened; but such grave, quiet, -_kind_ faces looked back at her that swiftly she dropped to her knees -again with another petition: “God bless ev’rybody, an’ most speshilly -Santa Claus.” - -“Amen,” said old Jerome, in the pause that followed. - -A bed had been hastily constructed in the warmest corner, out of the -best materials the camp afforded, and thither Jerome carried the child. -She nestled down drowsily while he tucked the covering about her; but -his was an alien touch, and through the room there suddenly sounded a -low, wailing cry: - -“Muvver--oh! muvver--” - -“There, Honey; there, Blossom--” the man’s voice broke, the hand that -soothed was clumsy and old, and it trembled--“there, Honey--” - -The men sat breathless--waiting, dreading to hear the cry again; but -moment after moment passed, and it did not come. There was one little -sob, then the dream-fairy stooped with her comfort. - -How quiet the room was! And this was Christmas Eve--the time when each -man was to do a stunt for the amusement of his fellows and the glory of -himself. Generally on this occasion the Lord of Misrule held high -carnival,--the flowing bowl was like a perpetual fountain, and laughter, -shouting, and horse-play abounded on every side. There was rum in plenty -since Terry had not failed them, but no effort was made to secure it; -desire of that kind was dead, it seemed. They were content to sit there -listening to the soft rise and fall of the child’s breath; the land of -dreams, into which she had slipped, open to them also. And though it was -so different from those other Christmas Eves, it was far from being -dull. Into each heart there had crept a soft glow, which did not come -from the blazing logs, and which no grog, no matter how skilfully -blended, could have given, for once again the presence of one of God’s -little ones made holy a humble place. - -Shawe was the first to bring the stillness to an end. They had been -sitting quiet, nobody could tell how long, when he got to his feet. -Noiselessly as he moved he broke the spell, and eyes that had grown -misty looked at him, some with resentment, others with curiosity, and -others again with reproach. Old Jerome’s gaze held the latter quality. -Nobody knew much about Shawe, anyway. He was not one of them. He had -come to the camp some weeks before, and would be gone in a day or so--up -to Merle this time, and then--He was a wanderer--some outcast, perhaps, -from a better life gone by. Nobody knew him. They had no quarrel with -him; he was a good enough fellow, only not of them. They watched him, -therefore, almost coldly, yet noting with jealous satisfaction that he -stepped warily as he passed from the room; then they fell to thinking -again--with a difference. - -He came back after a short absence with a soft, dark mink’s skin in his -hand,--a bit of fur that a woman’s fingers could fashion into a cap to -cover a child’s golden hair,--and went to the small stocking, cramming -the gift far down to keep that other company. A breath of approval -fairly twinkled around the room. The grave faces melted into smiling -delight; and just as the circles widen in a pool of water when a stone -is thrown in, spreading farther and farther till the whole surface is -disturbed, so every one present came within the influence of Shawe’s -action. As if by one accord the men hurriedly left their places, making -scarcely any noise, yet jostling against one another in their eagerness -to play at being Santa Claus; each man seeking out his kit, and -returning with what would be the likeliest thing to please a little -child. - -A bright red handkerchief, an orange one, a third as many colored as -Joseph’s coat, an old _habitant_ sash worth its weight in gold to a -connoisseur, a scarf-pin set with a cairngorm the size of a man’s -thumb-nail--this from Sandy!--a--you mustn’t laugh--a pair of brand-new -suspenders, and big and little coins that spelled liquor or tobacco to -the givers, and now bought what pleased them infinitely more. Of course -one stocking couldn’t begin to hold the gifts, though they were massed -into a dizzy pyramid at the top, so its mate was pressed into service -and crowded likewise. There was a distressing similarity in the presents -when you came to think of it, especially where handkerchiefs were -concerned; still, no man withheld his giving because another’s choice -was necessarily the same; he added his contribution proudly, as if it -were the only one of its kind. Frenchy, who had a pretty trick of -carving, gave a really beautiful little frame which his deft fingers -had made in the long evenings; and the cook, when no one was looking, -slipped in his prayer-book, though I don’t believe any one that night -would have laughed at his having it with him. The young fellow they -called Kid--he was something of a dandy--added a ring of massive -proportions. It wasn’t gold, but he pretended it was, and liked to wear -it when he went to dances to make the girls think he was a fine, -up-and-coming man. And Jerome--poor old Jerome-- - -It was a very meagre kit that he rummaged through again and again,--one -that he himself had packed; and when a man has to take care of himself -he doesn’t put in any useless traps, any--what you’d call gewgaws; not -when he’s old, that is. So he could find nothing there; and a search -through his pockets revealed the same depressing poverty. He had -nothing--nothing but a certain battered snuff-box that had been his -companion for so many years that it would be easier to imagine him -without his head than without the box. He was evidently of that opinion, -for he stowed it down in his pocket with an air of great finality. But -nevertheless, polished to an almost glittering show of youth and filled -with coins, it very fitly crowned the motley collection. - -It had taken some time to play Santa Claus, for each man had to wait his -turn to stow away his gift; there were no deputies allowed on this -occasion, and the bungling fingers couldn’t work very quickly,--didn’t -try to, if the truth were known. But all too soon the joyful task came -to an end, and the men stood back radiant-eyed, looking at those bulging -little red stockings as if they were the most beautiful things in all -the world. - -How the glow spread and spread in their hearts, though the fire, banked -for the night, was shining quite dimly now! That mighty threefold cable -of the Christmas-tide--with its strand of inheritance, its strand of -opportunity, its strand of affection--bound them very closely to one -another; in that moment old wrongs and heart-burnings, bitternesses and -rivalries slipped away, and they knew the blessedness of peace and -good-will. Happy? There was just one thing to make them happier,--the -merry voice of a little child greeting the misty light of the Christmas -dawn. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE PEACE OF GOD - - -Toward midnight somebody stepped close to the improvised bed and stood -looking down with troubled eyes at the child curled up among the -blankets there. The light from the low fire cast an occasional -flickering flame upon the tiny segment of cheek just visible above the -woollen covering, like a snowdrop peeping out of a mass of old bracken, -and on the floating strands of hair that had lost their golden sheen in -the semi-obscurity. An hour or so earlier the men had gone to their -bunks in the long loft overhead, and their heavy breathing now -proclaimed the fact that they were resting from their labors. Every one -in the house was sleeping but Shawe; even old Jerome, who sat huddled by -the side of the little one, nodded at his post. He had maintained the -right of watching, by supremacy of his years and her evident preference -for him, jealously putting aside all offers that his vigil be shared. He -stirred now and opened his eyes, staring into the face of the man above -him. - -“What is it?” he demanded with a low, savage growl. - -“I couldn’t sleep,” Shawe whispered back, “for thinking of the ones who -are mourning for her,--her mother and uncle. The father isn’t home, she -said. Don’t you remember--‘God bless far-away daddy’? So he won’t be -troubled. But the others--they ought to know. We’ve had all the -Christmas sport and they nothing but black misery and bitterness. They -ought to know quickly.” - -Old Jerome’s hand fluttered above the little head, half fell to it, then -was drawn reluctantly back. - -“Ye-es, they’d orter know,” he said dully, “but how? Who is she?” He -shifted his position, averting his eyes. “I’ve be’n thinkin’ thet -p’r’aps she’s nobut a little Christmus sperit come to cheer us in this -God forsook spot--” - -“That’s nonsense, man. Look at her sleeping there as human as we are, -though with a difference. I tell you she has kith and kin, and their -hearts are bleeding for her at this moment. I’m going to find them--” - -“Ye sha’n’t take her with yer, Shawe,” the old man whimpered. “I’ll -roust up the others, an’ they’ll fight yer--I--I can’t; she’s made me -too trembly. But ye sha’n’t take her.” - -“You’re crazy! I’d no thought of taking her. It’s colder than charity -outside, and the frost is like a badger’s tooth. Besides, it must be -almost thirty miles to Wistar, and there’s no house nearer, is there? -No, I go by myself.” - -“An’ ef ye don’t win through--there’s thet chanst.” - -“I don’t--that’s all. But I’m not hopeless--I’ve got to win through.” - -“Best wait till mornin’,” Jerome said, after the silence between them -had grown unbearable, “p’r’aps somebody’ll be goin’ by from Merle, an’ -ye could git a lift, or p’r’aps her folks’ll come from somewhars--Ye -don’ know whar she come from, anyways,” he finished triumphantly. - -“We worked out the sum that she came with that man Terry. Everything she -said about Santa Claus fitted him like a glove, you--who know him--say. -And he came from Wistar, so she belongs there. Perhaps her people didn’t -miss her till late; and what traces would she leave if she came on in -his sleigh? Answer me that. How would they ever dream of searching for -her up here when there’s the river--Good God! a child like that wouldn’t -notice the spruce bush signals put up where the ice is thin; and there -are the open water-holes by the barns--” He stopped with a deep intake -of breath, and moved nearer the fire; Jerome, watching him furtively, -saw that he was fully dressed to go out. - -“Wal!” he muttered slowly, after a time, “ef ye be so sot on goin’, -ye’re goin’, I s’pose. P’r’aps ye’re right. Somehow I was only thinkin’ -from my side, an’ hedn’t got ’roun’ to the mother’s; mebbe an ol’ codger -like me never would ha’ got ’roun’--can’t say. Here’s my hand.” - -It was an unusual demonstration, but Shawe showed no particular -surprise; everything being a little out of the ordinary that night. He -grasped the extended hand warmly, then let it drop, and turned away, -bending again for a moment over the sleeping child. - -“Wish I were going to hear her laugh over the stocking,” he said half to -himself. - -“Got a wife an’ fambly?” Jerome asked. - -“No,” the other returned. - -“Thought mebbe ye hed, ’count o’ yer thinkin’ how the mother’d -feel--mebbe ye hed oncet.” - -“Yes,” Shawe answered shortly. - -“Then ye know how turr’ble masterful the kids are. Strange, ain’t it? -Mine hed got so ez he could patty-cake, ye understan’. Lord! there -warn’t never a sight like it--never. Thought fust ’twas a kinder fool -thing the mother’d learned it; but bless yer! I didn’t think so long; -’twas the purties’ sight-- - - “‘Patty-cake, patty-cake, baker’s man--’” - -Shawe moved cautiously across the room, and paused at the door to look -back at the old man softly clapping his palms together. Something in his -glance recalled Jerome to a sense of his surroundings; he got up in his -turn and joined his companion. - -“Ye’ll keep an eye out fer them deers, won’t yer?” he whispered -anxiously. “Christmus Eve they all kneel in the woods an’ look up to -he’vin, ye know. Thet’s Injin talk ’roun’ here from way back; some o’ -the oldest fellers swear their folks seed the thing done. Can’t say -’xactly ez I b’lieve it myself, but ’twould be a purty sight--an’ -anyways, ye jes’ watch out. Wal, luck to ye, lad, luck to ye.” - -“Oh! you’ll see me again, never fear,” Shawe said lightly, to cover the -other’s concern. “I’m a bad penny. So long!” - -He let himself out into the night, closing the door speedily, and with -as little noise as possible; but quick as he had been, a blast of the -nipping air filled the room. Jerome hurriedly drew the blankets closer -about his little charge; then he stooped to the fire, coaxing it into a -brighter glow. - -“Fer a bad penny,” he mumbled, as he went back to his place, “Shawe -rings oncommon true. There ain’t nary of us ez would ha’ thought o’ -doin’ what he’s a-doin’--nary a blessed one of us. I swan he’s dif’runt -somehow--kinder apart, but square--square. Never knowed nothin’ ’bout -Shawe; hed to take him on his face value, so to say; he ain’t a gabbler -’bout himself, but gen-i-al--gen-i-al--an’ oncommon quick-witted inter -the barg’in. We’d a-waited till Kingdom come afore we’d thought ’bout -fillin’ them stockin’s ef he hedn’t started the game; an’ ’twas him ez -heerd her callin’ when the rest of us was deef ez postses. Hmm! mebbe--” -but praise and conjecture alike were silenced as the grizzled head -dropped forward and the old chopper fell into a heavy doze. - -Shawe, meanwhile, oblivious to both, thrust his hands deep into his -pockets, and started off on his lonely errand. It might prove fruitless, -but results were not for him to consider; his was to do the duty of the -moment, and by the moment. Nor did it seem to him that he was doing -anything to be especially commended. He had been driven out into the -night by his thoughts of the distress in the child’s home, and once they -had taken possession of him it was impossible to stay warm and -comfortable in his bunk. He simply had to go--he could not wait. -Besides, he told himself, it wasn’t much; he had been out on nights to -which this, bitter as it was, was balmy by comparison. He had faced -gales, terrible as that chill wind which the old Moslem fable says will -blow over the earth in the last days, and yet had come safely through. -There was no air stirring at this time; the intense silent cold of the -North wrapped everything close. He was guarded against it, however, and -while he could keep in rapid motion he had little to fear from its -searching tooth. - -He drove his hands deeper into his pockets and strode on. The way had -been broken through some weeks earlier and was well defined; there was -no chance of missing it. In the clearing the night was as bright as day; -under the light of the moon the snow lay like an immense silver shield -across which the trees threw bars of shadow; but as the road wound -through the woods the brightness retreated in great measure, shimmering -only here and there through the high trunks, striking off a gleam from -this snowy head and that, or shivering down like a lance of steel as if -to pierce the deeper blackness which crouched beyond. - -Shawe knew no fear. He passed on silently and as swiftly as possible, -casting a wary glance around occasionally; but he seemed to be the only -living creature abroad that night. The deer, if there were any, were not -stirring, or his eyes, perhaps, were too sceptical to witness the simple -spectacle of their adoration. There was no sign of life anywhere. It was -almost as if it were the end of the world, and he the last man--the last -of creation--left on earth, so wide and empty were the spaces about him; -the great vault overhead, in which the moon and stars rode calmly, was -out of his pygmy reach. - -Presently, as the trees grew sparser and the road showed its slighter -depression through the plain of snow lying beyond like some frozen sea, -he became conscious of life and motion close at his side. With the -instinct of the woodland creatures, he held himself perfectly tense, and -waited. Then right across his path there lumbered a huge, clumsy shape, -its breath showing like smoke on the moonlit air. Suddenly great drops -of moisture stood out on Shawe’s face as if it were mid-summer, and his -weight of furs had become intolerable; he had never felt fear before, -yet now panic gripped him. It was not the thought of physical hurt that -appalled him, but rather the sense of the utter futility of his -endeavor. So the end had come; and over there, still very far away, a -little child’s mother was sobbing--he could almost hear her moans. - -He stirred his hand from his pocket to his belt, and grasped the butt of -his pistol, drawing it forth swiftly. It might not be too late! His -finger was firm as iron as it touched the trigger; but the next instant -the beast slouched noisily into the shadows beyond. There was no other -sound--had been no other sound; the cartridges lay unused in their -chambers. Shawe lowered his hand. He had not been dreaming, he told -himself; he could swear to that. And the animal was no creature of -fancy; he had seen it quite plainly, had felt its breath as it passed, -had met the dull stare of its eyes. It was real,--as real as he was at -that moment, yet he had not fired because there had seemed no need--the -beast had simply disregarded him. Then suddenly Shawe laughed aloud, not -boisterously, but very gently,--the way you do sometimes when something -has happened that seems almost too good to be true, and the quick tears -rush into your eyes,--I think, perhaps, they were in his also. - -“It’s the peace of God,” he said softly to himself, “the peace of God--” - -For on the moment he remembered the old tradition he had heard in many -lands, that on the night before Christmas, from the day’s close to the -day’s coming, there is no slaughter anywhere among the beasts; that the -fiercest and most savage of them all are as harmless as doves to one -another, and even to their natural enemy--man. He put his pistol back -into his belt, unspeakably glad that no shot of his had broken the holy -truce. It was useless to try to account for what had happened. To -believe in the legend, or to laugh it away and attribute the animal’s -indifference to some natural cause. The whole experience--dream, or -reality--left him throbbing with a sense of gratitude that nothing had -interfered with his mission. The thought seemed to lend him greater -activity, as if his moccasined feet had suddenly become winged. There -could be no loitering anywhere while the mother mourned for her little -one, her voice crying vaguely, vainly, through that wonder-space of time -when, because of another Little Child, God’s peace wrapped the earth -close. - -There were no landmarks discernible. Terry would have recognized certain -ones, as would also some of the lumbermen; but to Shawe, who was a -stranger, the whole country was unfamiliar; all he could do, therefore, -was to lessen the distance step by step, knowing that while he kept the -road he could not miss his destination. Yet he never lost heart, nor was -he particularly tired. As boy and man, much of his time had been spent -in the open. He was used to hardships, rough weather, and great -exertion; the present undertaking seemed slight compared to others he -had known. - -Presently the white light of early dawn crept faintly up,--little Peep -o’ Day he’s called,--a tiny fellow, truly, to be sent out to fight the -darkness, and yet so persistent and undaunted that every moment he -glowed more confidently at his task, and grew bigger and bigger with his -efforts. The moon had looked scornfully at the coming of such an -adversary; but now she paled visibly, and called in her routed army of -moonbeams, while below,--the sleeping world laughed here and there at -the contest, stirring out of its slumbers. As soon as his duties were -accomplished, the little champion stole away, losing himself in the -brightness that filled the sky, and made it and the land look like -tinted silver; but nobody missed him, for the morning was at hand. There -was a gorgeous, rosy flush along the east melting into purple, out of -which the sun came up like a wonderful flower, opening slowly, first -pink, then yellow, then red--and it was Christmas Day! - -Shawe’s eyes gladdened at the sight, though he did not pause; he -couldn’t--oh! now less than ever--now, he must hurry--hurry. Back in the -shantymen’s hut the little child was already waking, he knew, and her -glee was filling the house; but in her home others were waking, -too,--they had not slept,--and listening in vain for the music of her -laughter. He must hurry! So he kept on; but somehow, though he was -beginning to be very tired, the going was much easier. Joy comes with -the morning, and new hope; all the doubts and fears of the night -disappear; they are some of the foes little Peep o’ Day vanquishes so -triumphantly. Shawe couldn’t feel despondent in that beautiful world -while the still morning brightened around him, especially when every -step brought him nearer his goal. He laughed like a boy, and shouted out -“Merry Christmas!” though there was no one by to answer his greeting; -but the clear cold air bore it wide, and it helped to swell the chorus -going up all over the earth. - -He ran a few paces, so wonderfully light-hearted had he grown, and flung -out his arms, clapping them against his body to warm himself; then he -sobered down--outwardly. Nobody would ever have supposed that the tall, -furclad figure with head bent a trifle, and only a bit of his face -visible between his big cap and high collar was the bearer of joyful -news. For one thing, he was walking quite stolidly, and your happy -messengers are always winged; and for another, he was looking neither to -left nor right. Wasn’t he?--Then why did he start suddenly, and throw -back his head, laughing up again at the sky? Why?--Because just in front -of him there was a house,--an ugly, squat little house, the glass in its -windows twinkling in the sun. He drew nearer, and his heart, that -had almost instantly rushed into his throat, fell back to its -proper place with a most discouraging thump. The house seemed -uninhabited,--deserted,--as if the people who had lived there had grown -tired of being so far from the settlement, and had gone back to be with -their kind, perhaps to stay there always, or at least over this day of -festivity. It was impossible to associate a merry Christmas with this -sober, grown-up abode. A closer approach, however, revealed a small -thread of smoke issuing from the chimney; but otherwise, the general air -of dreariness about the place--its loneliness, its empty, staring -windows--chilled Shawe more than the winter night had done. - -He went quickly up to the door, over snow that had been tracked by the -passing of many feet; there were footprints everywhere,--great marks of -a man’s boot, and the smaller ones of a woman’s or a girl’s shoe. The -sight turned him a little giddy. Was this his goal--could his happy news -be spoken here? He tried to shout, but his voice seemed frozen in his -throat; he fell to trembling. He--he could not speak. He tried again, -choking out a faint sound. There was no sign from the silent house that -his call had been heard,--no stir, no movement of life. He flung himself -against the door, and battered it with his fists. The waiting seemed -like eternity to him; then his hand sought the knob, turned it, and the -door flew wide. He stared half dazed into the narrow passage-way with -the stairs climbing at one side; all the light seemed out in the world -behind him; the place was dim and chill. For a moment he paused, then -his voice sounded through the silence. - -“Halloo! Halloo! Is a little child missing here?” - -There was a quick sound of running feet overhead, an opening door, and a -woman’s scream. - -“Uncle--Uncle, have you--” - -The cry went up from below: - -“Is a little child missing here?” - -Something darted down the stairs; one wouldn’t have said it was anything -human, so swift was the motion; yet swifter than the flying feet, and -very piteously human were the words that came from the mother’s heart: - -“Is--is--she--dead?” - -“No, I tell you, no; she’s alive and well. She’s at Thornby’s -logging-camp--don’t faint! She’s all right; she’s safe, I tell you; -don’t--” - -Shawe was only just in time to catch the swaying form in his arms, and -for the moment, as he stood there, holding the unconscious woman, he was -unable to think what to do. It didn’t seem possible to him that the joy -of his message could harm her; perhaps he ought to have broken it more -gently--but how could he? It had to be told---- No--no--the joy couldn’t -harm her! A little air, a touch of snow on her temples, and she would be -herself again. He lifted his burden and turned to the open door. The -clear light from without came searchingly in upon the still face on his -breast, showing its pinched lines of distress and the ravages the tears -had made in its fairness; he started at the sight, and uttered a sharp -exclamation. - -The keen air revived her; she stirred a trifle with a low moan; a minute -later her eyelids fluttered, and her words came disjointedly in little -sobbing breaths: - -“Safe, my precious, safe--thank God, oh! thank----” The cold whipped a -tinge of color into her lips; her eyes opened wide, and she stared up -into Shawe’s face. A look of bewilderment suddenly clouded their gaze. - -“You,” she said softly, “you--Humphrey?” - -She did not move from his arm; but very slowly she lifted her hand and -touched him wonderingly, her fingers lingering over his coat, and -creeping up and up to his cheek. - -“You, Humphrey--” - -Something like a sob broke from him. - -“Elisabeth!” he cried. - -“I don’t understand,” she said weakly. “It was so very long ago--oh! is -it really you? I--I--thought you would never come back--so long ago--and -you were angry--we were both angry; but I was the one to blame----” - -“No, no, no,” he interrupted, “mine was the real fault. I knew that when -it was too late, but I couldn’t let you know. Before we could make our -port the ship was wrecked--oh! it’s a sad story. Most of the crew were -lost; but the few of us who were saved lived somehow on that desolate -little island waiting--hoping--fearing--through those interminable -months before the rescue came. Then we were carried off to the other -side of the world, and from place to place,--wanderers on the face of -the globe; but I got home at last, and--there was no home for me--you -had gone away, you and Baby. They couldn’t tell me where, but I searched -for you, my girl, I searched for you. I wouldn’t give up looking--I -meant to find you--and it was so useless--” - -She clung closer to him, stroking his quivering face with gentle -fingers. - -“I thought you never meant to come back,” she whispered, “and I wanted -to beg you to come. I wanted to tell you I was really the most to blame, -but I didn’t know where to send a letter--I had to keep still. Oh! I -waited so patiently, and every day was a year. Then when you didn’t -come, I couldn’t bear the neighbors’ pity; it--it hurt!--so I stole away -one night with Betty. We went to a big city where no one knew us, and we -were very poor. I didn’t mind much for myself, only for Baby. It was so -hard to find work, I--I almost gave up. Then I remembered Uncle Steven, -my mother’s half-brother, who used to be with us a good deal when I was -a child. I knew he was all alone out here, and I felt he would help -Betty and me in our troubles. And he was so good--he is so good! He -didn’t even wait to answer my letter; he came to find us instead, and he -brought us back to share his home with him. That was three years -ago---- But you, how is it you are here?” - -“It’s a long story, Bess, darling. I’ve knocked around everywhere. I -hadn’t the heart to settle to anything, you know,--hunting, trapping, -whatever offered. I’d try first one thing and then another. Something -made me come over here--I don’t know what it was--I simply had to come. -I was on my way to the Northwest, and passed through Wistar three weeks -ago, never dreaming you were so near; then I went on to the logging-camp -and stopped there for a time, but I’d made all my plans to leave -to-morrow----” his voice trembled, and he rested his face against hers. -“Oh!” he went on brokenly, “I might have missed you altogether; we -might never have met again--never--if it hadn’t been for Santa Claus’ -sweetheart----” - -She looked up curiously, interrupting him with a quick exclamation, and -bit by bit the account of the little child’s arrival at the lumber-camp -was told. - -“But didn’t you know right away who she was?” the mother asked jealously -when he paused. - -“Dear, I didn’t. She was such a baby when I left,--scarcely two years -old, you remember. There was a likeness, though, to you that troubled -me, but I told myself I was fanciful. I’ve seen that likeness so many -times,--it has been upper-most in my mind, going with me everywhere, -eluding me everywhere. And, her name was different--Hammond.” - -“That’s uncle’s name; he would have her called so. Then you came all -that way not knowing who she was, nor for my sake?” - -“Yes,” he answered honestly, “I only thought of the sorrow in the -stricken household. I didn’t think of you at all. And yet it was for -your sake, too. Ah! Bess dear, my heart has been very tender for all -mothers since I left you to fend for the little one alone. I can never -make up for that--” - -“Hush!” she interposed, “you have made up. Even if I’d been somebody -else, and Betty somebody else, it would have atoned and doubly atoned -for you to do what you have done,”--she laughed unsteadily, she was so -happy that her words had become hopelessly tangled. “You know what I -mean,” she finished. - -“I know,” he smiled back. - -“But you ought to have recognized Betty at once; there was no excuse.” - -“I thought she was a dear little tot.” - -“Why, Humphrey, she’s the very dearest, the sweetest, the most precious, -the--” - -He stopped the loving catalogue with a kiss. - -“You’ll let me stay and find that out for myself, won’t you?” he asked -humbly. - -She clung to him, trembling all over, her face quite drawn and white. - -“It won’t take long--oh! you must stay longer than that.” - -“I’ll stay till the end, please God,” he said very solemnly. - -As they stood together, faintly from the distance there came the sound -of bells; the spirit of the blessed season filled the air,--the cheer, -the peace, the good-will. North, south, east, west, along the happy -roads that lead around the world, the message ran. Oh! very beautiful -are the roads of the world, but surely the most beautiful of them all is -little Forgiveness Lane that winds through tangles and briers, and over -stony and waste places, from heart to heart and climbs at last up to the -very gates of heaven. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -CHRISTMAS DAY - - -The day was several hours older when Humphrey and Elisabeth Shawe -started for Thornby’s camp. Before that time, however, poor Uncle -Steven, weary and disheartened and looking suddenly like an old, old -man, had returned from his futile search in and around Wistar, -accompanied by a number of the inhabitants of the little town who were -eager to lend what aid they could, although they realized how unavailing -their efforts must prove. - -They had expected to find the house wrapped in gloom, but instead, as -they stopped at its door, a young woman with a radiantly happy face ran -toward them crying out the joyful news. Then a mighty shout went up from -the sleighs,--no one knew who started it, but it grew and grew, until it -seemed to reach the sky, and when it died away--it was a long while -before that happened, because it was always breaking out again--there -was a great blowing of noses and clearing of throats, as if an epidemic -of influenza was raging among them all. As soon as quiet was restored -every one went within-doors to find Shawe, who was resting under the -strictest orders not to move, and who was allowed to remain quiet no -longer. There would be ample time on another day to get over his -fatigue; for the present he had to submit to being made much of. Such a -shaking of hands as took place then,--Uncle Steven started it,--and such -hearty wishes as were poured forth! It wasn’t Merry Christmas just once, -but it was Merry, merry Christmas over and over again, until the house -rocked with the noise. And there were no reproaches in word, or thought, -about that sad past, with its mistakes and misunderstandings, it was all -blotted out,--just as the snow stretched its sparkling whiteness over -the earth, hiding many an ugly spot, so the beautiful mantle of charity -lay close over what had been. - -Finally, at Shawe’s insistence, the sleigh was made ready. Not Uncle -Steven’s shabby cutter, but the roomier one of the most important -citizen of Wistar, who had been among the first to offer his services to -find the little child. It was heaped high with robes from the other -sleighs, until its gorgeousness and comfort were something to wonder at, -and four horses were harnessed to it; then the best driver climbed up in -front with much pride and, as soon as the husband and wife had taken -their places behind him, he cracked his whip briskly, in a hurry to be -gone. Again the air was rent with cheers, and amid the tumult the horses -sprang forward. Ah! they were very different from sober old Danny and -Whitefoot; they fairly flew over the road that had seen the jolly -progress of Santa Claus and his little sweetheart the previous day, and -that solemn faring southward through the night of the messenger bearing -his good tidings. The bells rang out merrily,--the gayest, gladdest -tune,--and the spirits of the sky, the plains, the woods, laughed back -in an ecstasy of delight, echoing the happiness everywhere; as far as -eye could reach the snow twinkled and shone as if with rapture that -Christmas Day. There was hardly any speech among the travellers, but joy -sat very close to their hearts, and no one objected to the silence. - -At last the logging-camp was reached, and, as the horses drew up with a -great shaking of their bells, the door of the shanty flew open, and a -body of men trooped out to greet the newcomers. They had all heard of -Shawe’s errand from old Jerome,--all but the child, who was kept in -ignorance, because no one knew what its result would be,--and at sight -of their former comrade a shout of welcome--and something -more--something deeper--burst from them, to be echoed again and again. -Under cover of the happy sounds Shawe, too moved for any words, jumped -from the sleigh and turned to help his wife; but she scarcely touched -his hand, springing past him as if she were winged. Only too well the -men knew who the shining-eyed woman was, yet they had no greeting for -her,--the exultation in her face silenced them all; they opened a way -speedily for her to pass through, and then turned by common accord to -look at the sight that would meet her. As if they could see with her -eyes! And yet the picture was an unforgettable one to them. - -They saw the rude familiar room, beautiful as it had never been until -the previous night, with the huge fire blazing at one side, and on the -hearth old Jerome bending down to the child, who, at the clatter -without, had risen from her play, the skirt of her gown gathered up over -a store of her new treasures as she turned wonderingly toward the door. -The men, still looking, saw the little hand relax its hold hastily, so -that the precious hoard fell to the floor unheeded--forgotten. The small -face changed from bright to brighter,--to brightest,--they had not -believed that possible,--and then they saw nothing but two figures -running toward each other and meeting in a close embrace, and they heard -the cries uttered in shaking voices, “Muvver--” “Dear, my little own!” -mingle and lose themselves in breaking sobs and a low peal of rippling -laughter. - -“I swan thet hick’ry makes the ’tarnallest smoke,” Jerome muttered a -moment later, “it do beat all”--he stopped, choking over the words,--“it -do beat all,” he said again, blinking around with misty eyes. - -Some one laughed unsteadily, and some one else coughed, then a third -person sneezed--and so the charm was broken. The mother raised her head -and gazed over the little shoulder at the other occupants of the room -with a look of deepest gratitude. How good every one was! Her thought -was plainer to them all than the most eloquent words would have been. -Indeed, words were not necessary at all. Betty, in the silence, turned, -and still resting in the encircling arm, smiled right and left on her -many friends, then her eyes came back to the face she loved so well, and -she patted it with fond fingers. - -“It’s the very happiest Christmas now,” she laughed, “’thout you -’twasn’t half so nice. Did dear Santa Claus bring you, too?” - -“You can never guess,” Elisabeth Shawe answered, the delight in her -voice vibrating like a bell. “It was some one far better and kinder than -Santa Claus, though you and I, darling, have much to thank that old man -for, and we’ll bless him all our days. Listen, sweet.” - -For a moment the woman bent close to whisper in the rosy ear, then, as -if she realized that the men who had been so tender to her child had -earned a right to share in the new-found happiness, she told the story -aloud. She spoke very simply so the little hearer might -understand,--indeed, it was meant chiefest for her,--but the others -crowding near were not denied a glimpse of the great joy the morning had -brought into three lives. - -“Not daddy,” Betty screamed, as the full truth dawned upon her, “not my -very own, own daddy!” - -She didn’t wait for an answer but ran swiftly to Shawe, who was -standing just behind, and threw herself into his arms. - -“Oh! you won’t be a far-away daddy ever any more, will you?” she cried. - -“Never any more,” he answered brokenly, then he gathered her close to -his breast and kissed her. - -The men looked on shy-eyed and silent in the presence of that boundless -content. Who could say anything? Who could speak? Betty’s laughter, as -her father released his hold and she slipped to the floor, acted like -magic upon them all; in a moment a deafening hubbub filled the room. -After it had subsided a little the Kid, who had served as master of -ceremonies on several occasions, assumed the leadership; though he was -the youngest of them, _he_ knew how things were managed out in the -great world. Therefore he escorted Mrs. Shawe to the seat of honor with -his very best company manner,--and there never was a manner like it -anywhere, so his comrades heartily declared, and I’m quite sure they -were right! - -The great barrel-chair which Jerome usually occupied was drawn up to the -centre of the hearth, and as soon as her mother was seated Betty brought -all her new treasures and displayed them with great pride, while the men -nudged one another slyly as the former owners were recognized; no matter -how hard they tried to appear unconscious, a quirk of pleasure, or a -I-mustn’t-appear-as-if-I-had-ever-seen-that-before look was a sure -indication when all other signs failed. And Betty always found them -out, shouting gleefully at each discovery, while her mother smiled in -gratitude, no less pleased than the little one. Well, why shouldn’t they -be glad, too, to give all that pleasure? Somehow there was such a cosey, -comfortable feeling about it they felt good all over, and they couldn’t -keep quiet,--that was too much to expect! So the old room rang again and -again with their mirth. - -“Sing to us now, dear, my little own,” Elisabeth Shawe said, when the -gifts had been duly admired, “sing the old song about this blessed day.” - -Betty leaned against her mother’s shoulder within the happy circle of -her arm. - -“You too,” she whispered, “just like we always do?” - -“Yes, darling, in our own way.” - -The child’s glance went round the room, taking in the joyful faces that -smiled back at her in friendly fashion; then she met her father’s eyes, -and, reaching out, she took his hand in hers, drawing it close, until it -rested on that other hand above her heart. A moment later she began to -sing in her sweet little thread of a voice: - - “‘I saw three ships come sailing in, - On Christmas Day--on Christmas Day, - I saw three ships come sailing in, - On Christmas Day in the morning.’” - -Elisabeth Shawe took up the next verse: - - “‘Oh! they sailed into Bethlehem, - On Christmas Day--on Christmas Day, - Oh! they sailed into Bethlehem, - On Christmas Day in the morning.’” - -It was Betty’s turn: - - “‘And all the bells on earth shall ring - On Christmas Day--on Christmas Day, - And all the bells on earth shall ring - On Christmas Day in the morning.’” - -Again there came the fuller, richer tones of the sweet antiphony: - - “‘And all the angels in heaven shall sing, - On Christmas Day--on Christmas Day,’” - -The voices of mother and child blended in unison, filling the room with -happy, rippling music: - - “‘And all the angels in heaven shall sing - On Christmas Day in the morning.’” - -At a signal from Shawe the men joined in the next verse, waiting for the -first line to be given, and then going on with the simple iteration, -until the little carol became a mighty triumphal chorus: - - “‘And all the souls on earth shall sing - On Christmas Day--on Christmas Day, - And all the souls on earth shall sing - On Christmas Day in the morning.’” - -“Dang thet hick’ry,” old Jerome grumbled in the hush that followed, “it -do set a man splutterin’ ez never was!” - - -THE END - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SANTA CLAUS' SWEETHEART *** - -***** This file should be named 64124-0.txt or 64124-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - https://www.gutenberg.org/6/4/1/2/64124/ - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Santa Claus' Sweetheart</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Imogen Clark</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December 24, 2020 [eBook #64124]</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</div> -<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SANTA CLAUS' SWEETHEART ***</div> -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/cover.jpg"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" height="550" alt="[The image -of the book's cover is unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p class="cspchd">SANTA CLAUS’<br /> SWEETHEART</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><p><a name="front" id="front"></a></p> -<a href="images/frontis.jpg"> -<img src="images/frontis.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>“Will ye tell me good-by now, swateheart?”</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 15%;"><i>Page 93.</i></span><br /> -</p> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/title.jpg"> -<img src="images/title.jpg" -height="550" -alt="" -/></a></div> - -<h1> -SANTA CLAUS’<br /> -SWEETHEART</h1> - -<p class="c">BY<br /> -<br /> -IMOGEN CLARK<br /> -<br /> -ILLUSTRATED<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -NEW YORK<br /> - -E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY<br /> - -31 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">Copyright, 1906,<br /> -E. P. Dutton & Co.</span><br /> -<br /> -Published September, 1906.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.<br /> -<br /> -<br /><br /><br /> -TO<br /> -<br /> -E. A. M. M.<br /> -</p> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Chapter</span></td><td> </td> -<td><span class="smcap">Page</span></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">I.</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Enter Santa Claus</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_3">3</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">II.</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">The Ride Together</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_30">30</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">III.</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">Exit Santa Claus</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_66">66</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV.</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Christmas Eve at Thornby’s</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_97">97</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">V.</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">The Peace of God</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_130">130</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI.</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">Christmas Day</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_165">165</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<h2><a name="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td><a href="#front">“Will ye tell me good-by now, swateheart?”</a> (<a href="#page_96">p. 93</a>)</td><td class="rt"><a href="#front"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#page_96">She stood waiting, listening to the bells</a></td><td class="rt"><i><a href="#page_96">Facing page 96</a></i></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span> </p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="cspchd"><b><big>SANTA CLAUS’<br /> SWEETHEART</big></b> -<br /><br /> -<img src="images/image003.png" -width="100" -alt="" -/></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I<br /><br /> -<span class="cspchd">ENTER SANTA CLAUS</span></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>ERRY O’CONNOR always declared he was born under a happy star, and he -also maintained that at the time of his coming into the world it had -danced for very joy. This statement, which no matter how much others -might doubt but could not dispute, he had direct from his mother’s -mother, who was present on that most auspicious occasion, and had -observed the unusual con<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span>duct of the stellar body from the window. And, -moreover, as if to establish quite conclusively the connection between -the shining merriment in the skies and the advent of the little child on -earth, the first thing the baby did was to smile. Old Mrs. Mulcahey knew -what she was talking of. She had seen many new-born children in her -time, and all of them, with the exception of her small and only -grandchild, had worn such doleful countenances that a less hopeful -person than herself would have been cast into despair. Whether that -dazzling, dancing star had blinded her eyes, or had given them a truer -vision, who shall say? She had seen—what she had seen! A little joyful -slip of humanity come valiantly into this world of trouble,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span> equipped -from the outset with the sign-royal of a light heart.</p> - -<p>It was the humblest of cradles; but to it, as to all cradles—so runs -the old belief—had trooped, unseen, the good fairies with their gifts, -and hither also had come the wicked fairy, who is seldom absent at such -times, and whose malignant generosity mars all the gracious giving, -making possession only too often of doubtful value. Here, as elsewhere, -she wreaked her evil will so that the little child grew to be a man -known through the countryside as a good-for-naught. That was the extent -of her work, however; she was powerless to prevent another testimony. He -was also known as a kindly, happy-go-lucky fellow, his own worst enemy, -but the friend of all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span> the world. Such was the record of five-and-sixty -years, and such it would be to the end.</p> - -<p>Terry dragged his squirrel cap closely down about his ears, and pulled -the collar of his fur coat up to meet it, shutting out the shouts that -rose from the group of idlers gathered around the roaring fire in -Wistar’s tavern. Not even Ulysses, on that memorable voyage of his past -the sirens, ever strove so vigorously to dull his hearing as did this -little commonplace man, who was generally in thrall to his own -pleasures. In spite of the laughter which reached him in faint bursts, -he strode resolutely to the door and let himself out into the still, -white world. For a moment his will, nerved as it seldom was, faltered; -back of him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span> through the open door, he could see the gleaming eye of -the fire winking and blinking in friendly wise; the grinning human faces -turned his way, jovial as they were, were less alluring, though he knew -what comfort lay in their mirth, and what additional comfort would be -passed from lip to lip as the hours went by. He was not unfamiliar with -such scenes, but the knowledge that the morrow would be Christmas and -his rude sleigh contained what would go to the needs, and also to the -meagre pleasuring of the shantymen at Thornby’s logging-camp, as well as -another and still more potent thought, lent an unusual firmness to his -step. He was not sure of himself even then, however, though he cleared -the distance with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span> bound which landed him in the centre of his waiting -sleigh, and shook out the reins with a wild halloo that startled the -placid old horses and made them whirl forward on the frozen road with -the friskiness of youth. The noise of the hurried departure brought the -men within the tavern running to the open door, to stand there -bare-headed, gaping at the diminishing speck which they knew—and did -not know. A man of determination, surely, and hitherto their -acquaintance had been with one who never could say “no,” or a quarter of -a “no,” on any occasion—the real Terry O’Connor.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, as the sorry-looking nags sobered down to their everyday -gait, the man back of them knew which was the real self. His<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span> own -conduct, despite the fact that he held its key, had surprised him even -more than it had his companions; and as his thoughts turned longingly to -the spot he had just quitted, he let his grasp slacken on the reins. It -was better that the horses should take their own way for a while; he -could not quite trust himself. Presently, however, when no backward -glance revealed the tavern, and all around the country lay wrapped in -the white silence of winter, he gathered the lines more firmly between -his fingers and called a jovial word of encouragement. His voice rang -out loud and far-reaching,—the only sound to break the stillness save -the monotonous sing-song of the sleigh bells that struck a vibrant note -on the clear air, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span> sharp crunching of the hardened snow under -the passing hoofs. Another man in Terry’s place, doing his duty against -his inclination, would have performed the task stolidly if there were no -one by to applaud his action and recognize what a fine fellow he was. -With Terry it was different. Once starting out to do a thing he carried -his own lightness of heart into the matter, which was probably the -result of being born under a happy star.</p> - -<p>There were other reasons in this instance, besides the performance of -his duty, to make Terry happy. He had never heard that duty done is the -soul’s fireside; indeed, had he been consulted on the subject he would -have frankly cast his vote for Wistar’s fireside with the hot<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span> toddy -going around at blessed intervals rather than for any warmth that might -come from his soul because of his own well-doing. He knew little of his -soul, and cared less; that was something, according to him, to be -reserved for the time when illness, or old age, should overtake him. At -present, with his lusty health and his gay heart that was bubbling over -with youth despite his years, he disregarded the acquaintance entirely. -He had turned his face resolutely toward the north and to the north he -would go, though first the provisions would be duly left at the camp; -but he had no intention of remaining there himself. A glass of -grog—another—they could scarcely offer him less than two!—and he -would be away again. Like a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span> beacon, out of the distance, beckoning to -him was the jollity up at Merle. It was there he meant to keep the -Christmas Eve vigil and, moreover, win the bet Narcisse Vélin had made. -For Narcisse, smarting under what he termed “a slight to hees honor-r,” -had declared that Terry would never be able to leave Wistar’s tavern and -the jolly crowd assembled there, and the shantymen would be obliged to -do without their Christmas cheer because they had chosen so unworthy a -bearer instead of a more capable man—he would mention no names!—and -then with an evil laugh he had made a heavy wager that his words would -come true.</p> - -<p>Terry shivered momentarily under his furs, though he was so well<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span> -wrapped up that the cold was powerless to reach him. How nearly had -Narcisse been right, how nearly had he—Terry O’Connor—been the loser. -The grog was so good at Wistar’s, and Baptiste, the most famous -story-teller of them all, had just come in with a new and wonderful -adventure at his tongue’s end, and the glow of the fire was like a -gentle hand soothing one into forgetfulness. Then suddenly he had -remembered the packed sleigh without with Danny and Whitefoot waiting -patiently, though mournfully shaking their bells from time to time to -remind him of themselves, of his duty, and, more than all, of Narcisse. -The latter thought was the real spur to goad him out of the ease into -which he had fallen. So<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span> he had left the tavern, and the surprise his -action had caused filled him with great glee.</p> - -<p>“They’ll niver be t’rough talkin’ av it,” he chuckled aloud, “niver! -They’ll say whin they tell their shtories ’twas the year, ye mind, whin -Terry, the little jool av a man, wudn’t stay along wid us though we -besached most beguilin’, an’ the grog was that edifyin’ ’twas its own -monymint. He wint out into the piercin’ cold did that brave little -felly”—Terry’s chest swelled with pardonable pride—“because he’d -passed his say-so. He’s a square sowl is the lad, though there do be -some avil-minded folks as give out that he an’ his promises don’t walk -on the same side av the way—now the howly saints fergive thim!” He<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span> -flapped the reins on the horses’ backs.</p> - -<p>“Hi, there, me byes!” he shouted. “<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tis a fine supper ye’ll be havin’, -an’ Narcisse Vélin will be afther payin’ the score. Kape a-goin’, me -beauties. The moon will be up whin we go into Merle, an’ ye’ll be -dhroppin’ wid fatague; but aisy! now—aisy!—there won’t be anny work -to-morry, childer—oh, jist ye wait an’ see! They’ll be afther thinkin’ -we ain’t comin’, an’ Narcisse will say in his Frenchy way: ’Bieng! -didn’t I tol’ ye so? The bet is mine, an’ little Terry’ll have to pay -up; ye can’t put no daypindince in a man av his build iver—’ An’ whilst -the avil wurrds are dhroppin’ from his mouth I’ll walk in on thim all as -inconsequenshul-like as if I was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span> goin’ to a fair. That’s the toime the -laugh will be wid me, an’ Narcisse will want to slink aff to some -remoted place. Oh, there does be no sinse at all to make wagers onlesst -ye be sure av winnin’—thin ye can make thim big—”</p> - -<p>The thought so pleased him that he laughed boisterously, and flicked the -horses with the whip, much as a man would nudge his neighbor with a -friendly elbow at some witticism; then, his merriment abating a trifle, -he began to sing.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he broke off in his song, and his fingers closed tightly over -the slack reins; the horses felt the authoritative touch and came to an -instant standstill. Before them lay the road which here led across the -open country, though farther on it wound through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span> woods and over the -low hills. Back of them, three good miles by now, was the little -settlement with Wistar’s tavern (which had given the place its name) as -a nucleus, while to the left stretched the plain empty of all sign of -life; and to the right there was the same level whiteness, broken only -by a solitary house which fronted the road at some distance away and -seemed like a belated straggler, held captive by the relentless bonds of -winter, as it peered longingly in the direction of the small town from -whose companionship it was forever set apart. There was an air of -forlornness about it, surrounded as it was by all that glitter of ice -and glint of frost, though the chimney smoke curling slowly up through -the sharp air told of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span> certain homely cheer within. It was off the -beaten track, however, and despite the fact that Terry had halted he -made no attempt to give evidence of his presence by so much as a shout. -Out of the earth, almost beside him, there had unexpectedly risen a -small figure, and he now found himself staring into a child’s eager -face.</p> - -<p>“Are you Santa Claus?” she demanded with bated breath.</p> - -<p>He looked back at her, taking in, even in his dull fashion, the delight -that widened her eyes and shrilled her voice. Suppose he told the -truth—what then? How the disappointment would cloud the upturned -radiant face at the commonplace statement that he was only Terry -O’Connor. He hesitated an inappreciable moment;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span> then, because he had -been born under a dancing star and loved a jest, he answered her -question.</p> - -<p>The child’s laugh rang out on the air in happy triumph, waking the -echoes. The horses stirred a little and their dull old bells gave forth -a low sound, but it wasn’t music compared to that which filled Terry’s -ears. He took up the reins reluctantly. She pressed nearer, putting out -a small, resolute hand as if she were one of those old-time, -fierce-browed highwaymen and meant to stop his further progress.</p> - -<p>“Ah, please don’t,” she protested, in a tone no knight of the road would -ever have employed, “please—” Then with a little rush, as if the words -were eager to escape: “ I was so sure it was truly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span> you, so sure. I saw -you when you were way off—just a teeny, weeny speck—and first I -thought maybe it was Pierre, or p’r’aps the doctor, or Mr. Higgins, and -I came down here ’cause they always say ‘How are you?’ as they -pass—they’re such noticing big men! I couldn’t see very clear, you -know, with the sun shining one way and the snow sending back baby -sparkles the other; but everything seemed so happy, and when I heard you -singing, I knew why—even your bells sounded glad—glad! I just could -hardly wait. I’ve thought so much about you always—I knew you’d come -some day. Where—where are you going now, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Home,” answered Terry, honestly enough.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span></p> - -<p>She cast a quick glance at the north along the road he must travel, and -which, to her fancy, led henceforth to an enchanted world; then her eyes -sought his face again.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” she cried breathlessly, “must you go quite—quite yet?”</p> - -<p>At the possibility of his departure, the joy that had been written all -over her confident little person seemed suddenly to take wing, leaving -her dejected and forlorn. The pleasure had been so brief,—a mere flash -of brightness that was over almost as soon as it had come.</p> - -<p>Terry hesitated; every moment he lingered imperilled the fulfilment of -his wager, for his horses were old, and their best was apt to be very -slow indeed. He could not afford to loiter. “Before twelve av the clock, -Christmas Eve,” Nar<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span>cisse had taunted him. But the little child! It -seemed almost a sin to cheat her of this happiness. He must go, yet -everything about her—drooping lips and saddened eyes—bade him stay. -Then, filled with a desire to please her and, at the same time, not -interfere with his own plans, he bent down.</p> - -<p>“Come along wid me,” he suggested jocosely.</p> - -<p>He had not been prepared for the effect his words would have on her; the -joy in her face was keen as a dagger’s point, and seeing it he would not -temporize.</p> - -<p>“Come wid me,” he urged.</p> - -<p>She hesitated in her turn, and cast a backward glance at the silent -house whose tin roof flashed almost like an admonishing eye in the sun. -Duty was a word of even less pro<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span>portions in her vocabulary than in -Terry’s, though she knew its existence; knew, too, young as she was, the -wide gulf that lies between right and wrong doing. Yet here was no -question of wrong, certainly. The possibility of the passing of such an -Important Personage had never occurred to her elders, and they, who -loved to see her happy, would never refuse to let her go with him; it -wasn’t necessary to ask—she couldn’t wait. The house was so lonely! Her -uncle was away at his work, and her mother sat sad and quiet, sewing the -livelong day; there were no children’s voices in the empty rooms, no -rollicking, romping feet in the hall or on the stairs. Just silence, -save for the little sounds she herself made as she played with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span> her -dolls, or, tired of them, watched the big, desolate world from the -window. That was the picture the house held for her. This,—she looked -again at the little red-cheeked, blue-eyed man smiling at her from under -his big fur cap, his white beard framing his jovial face—why, he had -just stepped from her story book; hundreds of times he had met her -glance in this same friendly fashion from the printed page; just so had -he looked at her in those long daydreams, gleamed at her so in the -twilight from the leaping fire, haunted her slumbers at night. Even the -sound of his voice was familiar, though she had never thought to hear -him say: “Come with me, come with me.”</p> - -<p>The road, stretching away to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span> north, gleamed like silver under the -dazzling sky, twinkling and beckoning to her as with a thousand hands, -and innumerable voices, too fine to be heard by ordinary ears, echoed -the invitation. The voices of the sleeping plains waking at the thought -of the happiness in store for her, the voices of the snow-covered trees -where the little leaves danced in the summer time, and all the spirits -of the birds that had once darted in and out among them and had nested -there sang now in a mighty chorus: “Come, come, come.”</p> - -<p>Oh, that happy, happy road. Never a child of all the multitude of -children on earth who had loved him, dreamed about him, and longed to -see him had been so fortunate as she. It was impos<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span>sible to hesitate a -moment longer, especially when the pursed up lips might so quickly slip -from the magic word into a chirrup to the horses, and in consequence -sleigh and occupant would vanish into thin air.</p> - -<p>“Do you really mean it?” she asked tremulously. “Do you really mean it?” -For though she was deafened by the noisy voices, his had been the first -to speak. “Will you take me, truly?”</p> - -<p>For answer he threw back the robes, and as she sprang to his side he -gave a great laugh and drew her closer to him; then he dragged an extra -rug from the bottom of the sleigh and folded it about her.</p> - -<p>“Santa Claus’ swateheart mustn’t ketch the p-noo-moany,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span>” he cried. -“Divil a bit av it! What do I percaive—is it missin’ a mitten ye are? -Sure that’s disthressful, fer we can’t hunt it up now wid toime racin’ -by like a mill-shtrame—”</p> - -<p>“I’m unpartikilar, truly. I don’t mind the leastest bit—”</p> - -<p>“Well, mine wud be too shmall fer the likes av ye annyway, an’ I nade -thim mesilf. So tuck your hands clost under, me darlint, an’ ye won’t be -afther falin’ the cold. Now thin, is it ready ye are?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, oh, yes.”</p> - -<p>“Hi, there, Danny! Hi, there, Whitefut!” he shouted. “Buckle to, me -byes; the luck av the wurrld is foldin’ her arrms about me at this -toime, an’ no mishtake. Git a move on ye, childer.”</p> - -<p>The horses obeyed his voice with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span> alacrity, as if they were eager to get -their work over; the bells jingled, the snow beneath the runners gave -out a sharp hissing sound by way of answer, and the little sweetheart, -only her face showing out of the old brown rug as she nestled close -against the man’s arm, laughed merrily.</p> - -<p>Before them the happy road, its joyous voices still calling to her, went -on and on into the very rim of the sky; behind them the white earth -stretched. They didn’t glance back—why should they? There was not much -to see,—nothing but the empty plain and the lonely little house that -seemed to shiver there all by itself; the silent little house where no -child played, or looked from any of its windows. It seemed to have no<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span> -love for the outer world, and no interest in it; yet zigzagging from its -door were the prints of certain steps—too big for a fairy, too tiny for -a man,—a strange huddle of marks ever forming new paths, and finally -coming to an end at the side of the road.</p> - -<p>And the road led north, and the road led south, but nowhere was there -any trace of a small maid faring forth on a mission of discovery. One -would never have dreamed of her passing that way, had it not been for -those adventurous footprints and for the little red mitten that showed -upon the snow like a hand flung out in a silent good-by.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II<br /><br /> -<span class="cspchd">THE RIDE TOGETHER</span></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“A</span>N’ the shtar danced whin I was born—”</p> - -<p>“That was because you were Santa Claus,” laughed the little maid.</p> - -<p>“Faith, ’twas because I was mesilf—jest a slip av a babe that wud have -gladdened your eyes to see. ’Twas a happy shtar, an’ it came geekin’ in -at the windy,—An’ how are ye, me broth av a b’y?’ it seemed to say; -an’ I, not knowin’ the spache av the wurrld, jest shmiled back for an -answer. A shmile, or a laugh, is the best spache afther all, an’ don’t -ye<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span> fergit it. Why, even the brute dorgs know the differ betwixt glum -looks an’ cheerful ones. An’ the shtar wasn’t to be bate by a dorg, not -it! Iv’ry blessed wurrd that lay in me heart an’ cudn’t git to me -tongue’s end—the way bein’ thin unknown—was clear to it, an’ twinkle, -twinkle, hop, skip, jump it wint, a-twangin’ its little fiddle in chune -to its steps. Me mither’s mither—may the peace av hivin be her sowl’s -rist!—near dhropped me aff her knees wid amazemint, fer niver had she -beheld such divarshions; an’ by reason av the same she ran the pins into -me body, mishtakin’ it fer a cushion, but niver a whoop did I let forth, -bein’ all took up mesilf wid the joy av the shtar. Sure, she cud have -made a clove apple av me<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span> intoirely an’ I wudn’t have been none the -wiser. She rectified her mishtake did she, an’ if she’d been in doubts -that all the saylestial fandarago was in me honor, she saw the truth av -it thin. ‘Mavourneen,’ she sez to me mither, ‘there’s a little happy -shtar widout in the hivins doin’ a quick-shtep, an’ up an’ down the -middle, an’ ballings to corners all because av this new-born babe who’s -laughin’ wid the humor av it—’ ‘An’ why not?’ sez me mither, wid a -certain fierceness in the soft voice av her. ‘Why shudn’t the whole -firmymint be set into a commotion av gladness because av him? Faith, if -ye cud pennythrate to me heart,’ sez she, ‘ye’d see it dancin’ as niver -was. Bring him here to me arrms, alanna, that I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span> may cuddle him clost, -so’s he can fale the bate av it.’ Thin the ould woman did as she was -bid, an’ me mither—now the saints bless her swate sowl!—held me till -her side an’ talked to me low, whilst the joy av her heart crept -insid’yus like into me own, an’ it’s lived there iver since.”</p> - -<p>“What did she say? Did she call you Santa Claus?”</p> - -<p>“Faith, she didn’t—not thin, nor aftherwards. She called me <i>Cushla -ma-chree</i>,—which manes Pulse av me Heart,—an’ Jool, an’ Precious, an’ -Light av me Eyes—”</p> - -<p>“But those are my own names, truly, all but the first one, and Heart’s -Content, and—”</p> - -<p>“Ah, the mithers—bless thim! There does be but one langwidge they spake -the wurrld over. Do<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span>n’t I know the truth av it? An’ the haythins as -well, that haven’t a wurrd av English to their names—God pity thim, -though he made thim an’ gave thim their gibberish, too—they say the -same thing in their outlandish tongue, an’ the little haythins -undershtand as well as you an’ me. Heart’s Contint, an’ Wurrld’s -Blessin’ an’—”</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Dear my little own,’—only muvver made that up speshilly for me; she -told me so—”</p> - -<p>“Did she, now? Begorra, the familiarity av it sounds like music in me -ears. I remimber me own mither whisperin’ something akin to it wanst -whin I snuggled clost to her. Whist! ’tis out av their falin’s fer us -that they do be gettin’ the wurrds afther all, an’ that’s betther than -learnin’ thim<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span> from the books. Whin ye come to think av it, it ain’t to -be wondered at that there’s a sort av fam’ly raysimblince betwixt thim, -seein’ as their hearts are av the same complexion. Oh, there ain’t -annything annyw’eres like a mither’s love.”</p> - -<p>For just a little minute the eyes blazing with fun took on a misty -twinkle, and something like a shadow crossed the old man’s face, making -it seem strangely grave; but it was gone as quickly as it had come, and -he was his merry self once more.</p> - -<p>“It must have been a most ’normous long while ago when you were a baby,” -the child said, inspecting him shyly.</p> - -<p>“It was, me darlint; it was the beginnin’ av toime—fer me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Somehow I never thought of you as a baby at all,” she went on, plainly -distressed. “Oh, what ever did the little children do then for Santa -Claus? There was never any other, was there?”</p> - -<p>“Niver a wan, Swate Eyes. I’m the original, simon-pure Santa Claus, an’ -no mishtake. Troth, they had to get on the best they cud widout me; an’ -a sorry toime they had av it, wan an’ all. Thin I came, an’ the wurrld -was a different place iver afther—so me mither towld me.”</p> - -<p>The child breathed a sigh of relief.</p> - -<p>“I’m so glad I got born when I did. I shouldn’t have liked to be borned -before you came. I’m half-past six, you know. Who filled your stocking?” -she de<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span>manded the next moment, as the new idea occurred to her.</p> - -<p>“Divil a wan I had to hang up whin I was a spalpeen; ’twas bare-futted -an’ bare-legged I wint.”</p> - -<p>“But Christmas,”—the little maid’s lip trembled,—“what did you do at -Christmas?”</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Twas like anny plain, ordinary iv’ry day to me, agra, an’ no differ; -except that wanst in jest so often me mither hid a plum in the bit cake -she was afther makin’ fer me, an’ I’d the joy av searchin’ it out -mesilf, same as ye’d seek out a naydle in a hayrick. An’ toimes it was -fat, an’ toimes ag’in ’twas like the shadder av itsilf; but glory be! I -niver missed it. An’ ’twas so good, fat or lane, that I used to drame -I’d give iv’ry child in the wurrld a cake all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span> shtuffed wid plums whin I -growed up—”</p> - -<p>“That was what put it into your head to be Santa Claus.”</p> - -<p>The man cast a sidelong glance at his companion’s eager face.</p> - -<p>“S’pose so,” he muttered.</p> - -<p>“But the star knew all along, and that’s why it danced and couldn’t keep -still.” She stole her hand into the curve of his arm, and gave it a soft -little squeeze. “Tell me ’bout that first time,” she coaxed.</p> - -<p>“What first toime?”</p> - -<p>“When you went Santa Clausing. Were you very long growing up?”</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Twas a terrible long spell from the b’y’s ind, an’ a terrible short -wan from the man’s,—all av which you’ll undershtand whin<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span> your hair is -me own color. But ’twas over an’ done wid sooner or late, an’ there I -was a man grown, though the heart av me has always been like a child’s -because av the shtar—”</p> - -<p>“And ’cause you belong to us.”</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tis a Solymon King av Sheba ye are, alanna. Well, I wint about me -work, an’ I toiled up an’ down the wurrld; but the goin’ was joyful -like, ’count av the fun I left in me wake, an’ iv’rywheres folks seemed -powerful glad to see me.”</p> - -<p>“I tried to keep awake last Christmas Eve,” she broke in shrilly, “after -muvver hanged up my stocking, but the sandman would come. I’d been awake -so long that when he crept in in his long gray cloak and with his bag<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span> -on his back, I thought it was truly you, and my heart went thumpety -thump. But he shook out the sand—sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle. -‘To-night of all nights you must sleep,’ he said; and I cried ‘No,’ and -closed my eyes quick, so’s the sand couldn’t get in; and when I opened -them the next minute it was quite morning—not yellow morning, you know, -but just the baby light that comes first. Then very soft, so’s not to -’sturb muvver, I crawled out of bed, ’cause it made me incontented to -lie still, and there was my stocking, full to the brim. I knew who’d -filled it—” She stopped in her recital to smile at him and to pat his -arm again. “Then I climbed up on a chair to take it down, and muvver -laughed out loud. ‘Come back to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span> bed, dear my little own,’ she said; -‘bring the stocking, and cuddle down warm and snug in blanket land.’ So -I did; and she kissed me and I kissed her, and we both said ‘Merry -Christmas’ to each uver. She went fast asleep again, but cert’inly you -couldn’t expect a little girl could sleep. I felt all my presents; -muvver says us little folks have eyes in our finger tips; and every -minute the light grew brighter, and then—I really saw! Dear, dear Santa -Claus, how could you ’member just what I wanted?” She rubbed her -dimpling cheek ecstatically against the old sleeve. “But you didn’t put -anything in muvver’s stocking,” she added softly.</p> - -<p>He could not meet her reproachful glance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span></p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Twas in a hurry I was,” he mumbled, “an’ me bastes shtampin’ widout in -the cowld—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, she didn’t know,” the child interrupted, “<span class="lftspc">’</span>cause when she was tight -asleep I found her stocking, and I put that very rosy-cheeked apple -you’d put in mine quite far, far down in hers, and some nuts, too. -Cert’inly I couldn’t give her the little doll or the picture book, -’cause grown-ups don’t care for such things, really; but things to eat -are different. You don’t mind, do you?”</p> - -<p>He did not answer. For the moment it almost seemed as if he had not -heard. His head was turned quite away.</p> - -<p>“And she was s’prised—oh! you can’t think—and glad, too; so glad her -eyes got all shiny and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span> bright. But you can’t guess what happened next. -She said, ‘Bless my Santa Claus.’ Wasn’t that funny? And then she kissed -me most ’s if she ’spected.”</p> - -<p>Danny and Whitefoot felt a sudden queer twitch on the reins—a -compelling touch that made them both swerve out of the direction they -were taking. It was almost as if their driver meant them to turn around. -Much earlier in the day, when they first left Wistar’s, for instance, -such a command would not have appeared singular; but coming at a time -when the tavern lay so far behind as to be forgotten, when the world -seemed a blanket of drift and down and glistening silver, with no house -in sight, the action was at least puzzling to their equine<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span> minds. They -stopped instantly, however, the noise of their bells hushed into -silence. Whitefoot turned a wondering face upon his master, and almost -immediately Danny looked protestingly around. The man met their gaze -half guiltily. Beyond—oh, very far beyond—lay Merle, with its -Christmas fun,—Merle, where he must be that night, or his name would be -the jibe of the countryside; and back of them—a good twelve miles, -perhaps fifteen, they had jogged on at such a steady pace—was that -solitary house. If he turned round it must be good-by to Merle; it would -be impossible for Danny and Whitefoot to make the journey again without -rest. He shifted the reins from one hand to the other.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why are we stopping?” asked the child.</p> - -<p>He looked at her in some perplexity, then his brow cleared.</p> - -<p>“To give the bastes their feed; they’re perishin’ wid hunger, so they -are, the saints fergive me,” he answered, in a relieved tone, glad to -postpone his decision for a time.</p> - -<p>He threw back the robes as he spoke, and sprang out on the ground. Where -they had stopped the narrow, lane-like road widened for a considerable -space into a plain again and a well, not far distant from the track, now -furnished water for the team, after which a bag at the back of the -sleigh poured forth grain into the pails; and when these were set before -the horses they fell to work as if Terry’s words were in danger of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span> -coming true. The child watched the proceedings with wide eyes.</p> - -<p>“They’re only just very woolly horses, after all,” she said, with a -tinge of disappointment in her voice, “in the books they’re reindeer.”</p> - -<p>“Sure, the reindeers is at home savin’ up forninst this night. I cudn’t -be dhrivin’ thim in the broad daylight, alanna dear; folks wud think us -a thravellin’ circus widout the elefunt. Begorra, ’tis shtarvin’ I am -mesilf, an’ I’ll take my Alfred-Davy ye’re in the same boat. We’ll be -afther havin’ a snack oursilves an’ a dhrop av somethin’ warmin’. Tumble -back into the sleigh, mavourneen, an’ wrap yoursilf up clost till I -shpread the tablecloth ag’inst the bankquid.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>The tablecloth, as was speedily disclosed, was nothing more than a very -greasy newspaper, which was wrapped around a huge pile of sandwiches, -each with a rim of bacon showing darkly between its thick slices of -bread, a hunk of cheese, and some fat crackers; but the finest damask -under other circumstances would not have seemed half so beautiful in her -eyes. And she had no quarrel with the coarse fare. Hunger, after all, is -the best sauce for appetite that can be served with any meal, and it is -more apt to come in with the plain dishes than with the elaborate ones, -as Santa Claus and his little sweetheart proved.</p> - -<p>“Faith, I cud ate a nail wid relish if nothin’ else was handy,” he -laughed, as he made his first<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span> onslaught on the sandwich he was holding, -and lessened it by a third, “but this is a dish to set before a king, so -tinder an’ tasty as it is. Take a rale thry at it, me darlint; ye do be -nibblin’ sech little grand lady bites ye’ll niver be t’rough. ’Tis wan -sandwidge I’ve put away already, an’ ye but embarkin’ on the top roof av -yours. Here’s the second to kape ye comp’ny, Brown Eyes.” He took an -enormous mouthful, and smiled at her, while he was rendered speechless, -and she smiled back, mute, too, from a similar reason.</p> - -<p>“Did ye iver taste betther?” he made out to ask.</p> - -<p>“Never,” she answered promptly; and she really spoke the truth. Sawdust -eaten in such companionship would have seemed as palat<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span>able as sugar, -and the present food was like the ambrosia of the high gods. Even those -delicious sandwiches that her mother made for her sometimes, with the -little slice of ham blushing faintly between the dainty pieces of bread -where the butter lay like a filmy, glistening veil, had never seemed so -good and satisfying as these big grown-up ones eaten under the high blue -sky in that country of snow and ice.</p> - -<p>As soon as the sandwiches had disappeared Santa Claus covered a cracker -with bits of cheese like nuggets of gold, and presented it to her with a -bow as if she were a queen. It seemed a fitting crown to the feast, -though apparently he had quite other ideas of a crown, as was soon -shown. When the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span> crackers and cheese were all eaten, and even the last -crumb chased home and captured, he put his hand into the breast of his -coat and drew out a flat, dark bottle which he regarded with loving -eyes.</p> - -<p>“Here’s me beauty,” he cried; “here’s what’s to top aff a faste a king -wudn’t disdain; here’s something he wudn’t give the go-by to, not he!”</p> - -<p>“What is it?” the little maid asked curiously.</p> - -<p>“What is it? Troth, ’twud take an hour by the clock to tell all the -names it has the wurrld over; an’ some is good, an’ some is bad—the -names, I’m manin’. Merry-go-down an’ Tangle-legs,—that’s shlander’us! -an’ Water av Health, an’ Odivvy, as the Frenchies say, which is the same -as Water av<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span> Life; but I’m not so much fer water in it mesilf, likin’ it -nate. Then there’s Oil av Gladness an’—Sure ye shall have the first -taste, mavourneen, as ’tis fit an’ proper—ladies always lead. Come, -shtand up an’ give us the toast—”</p> - -<p>“The toast—” she looked around bewildered; “why, we’ve eaten all the -bread, and there isn’t any fire—”</p> - -<p>“This is the fire an’ the bread too,” roared Santa Claus. “Bless your -innercent sowl, me dear, ’tis a propysition I’m afther askin’ ye fer. -Whist now, the fellies at the tavern sit ’round, an’ before they drink -wan will git up an’ say, a-wavin’ av his glass, ‘Here’s to him’—namin’ -some wan prisint; or ‘Here’s to honist hearts an’ true;’ or ‘Here’s to -thim at home,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span> God love thim!’ an’ we all drink to it. So now thin, -Swate Eyes, spake quickly, an’ drink long, an’ pass the bottle spadily -if ye love me, fer iv’ry minnit’s an hour till it quinches me thirst.”</p> - -<p>She got to her feet quite gravely, her eyebrows drawn together in the -little pucker they always made when she was thinking very hard; and -first she looked up at the sky, and then around at the stretch of land -where the sparkles under the crusted snow flashed like so many -imprisoned diamonds, and then at the sky again as if for inspiration. -Finally her glance rested upon him, leaning forward, regarding her with -his merry smile.</p> - -<p>“Why, here’s to you,” she cried, “our very own, ownest Santa Claus.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>She tipped the bottle against her lips as she finished speaking, gurgled -a little, choked, spluttered—</p> - -<p>“Saints above! child, howld your hand stiddy,” Terry shouted. “<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tis your -hood-shtrings an’ your coat as is gettin’ all that precious elixir, an’ -iv’ry dhrop av it a jool.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, take it away very quick,” she gasped. “I’m sorry to spill it, but -it’s most dreffly horrid.”</p> - -<p>“Aisy, me darlint, aisy! There’s no accountin’ fer tastes, as the ould -woman said when she kissed her cow. It’s a quare wurrld this is; but -sure, ’tis a most glorious dispinsation av Providince that we don’t all -be thinkin’ alike. See! I’ll have to take your share as well as me own. -An’ first, here’s me hand on me heart to your toast, an’ the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span> honor av -it; ’tis proud I am at this minnit, an’ next, here’s to -ye—shtandin’—here’s to the best thing a man can have in this -wurrld,—the love av a little child.”</p> - -<p>She stood up facing him, and bowed as he had done.</p> - -<p>“Here’s me hand on me heart to your toast,” she echoed, “an’ the honor -of it, ’tis proud I am at this minute.”</p> - -<p>Then she climbed back on the seat and watched him with round eyes as he -tilted his head very far back and took a deep draught. If his attack on -the sandwiches had astonished her, this new conduct awakened all her -wonder. As he took the bottle from his lips he uttered a sigh which -immediately slipped into a loud guffaw at sight of her expression.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span></p> - -<p>“You can’t like it,” she shuddered.</p> - -<p>“I’m not quarrellin’ wid the taste,” he answered, “an’ annyway, ’tis by -the docthor’s orders I do be takin’ a dhrop av the crayther, to kape the -cold out an’ the warm in. A nip once in jest so often, the wise ould man -sez, an’ don’t improve on the occasions, mind ye! But sure, there’s a -toast I haven’t yet given, an’ that’s to our next merry meetin’, an’ may -it come sooner than ’tis expected.”</p> - -<p>He neither looked nor bowed her way; indeed, the words were addressed to -his familiar spirits, and his eyes were fixed solely upon what he held -in his hand. After a moment he put the bottle back in his breast, and -buttoned his coat securely across.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span></p> - -<p>“An’ now to juty, swateheart,” he cried, springing out of the sleigh, -“the raypast is over, an’ the horses have gorged thimsilves like -magisthrates, the rapaycious gossoons! Come, be shpry, an’ lind a hand -wid the pails.”</p> - -<p>She did not wait to be told twice, but bustled around delightedly, -helping him stow the buckets among the dingy bags and barrels which -formed the prosaic load this Santa Claus carried.</p> - -<p>“Jest food forninst to-morry fer the shantymen,” he explained, as she -prodded the bulging sacks with inquisitive fingers. “They axed me to -fetch along their Christmas dinner. Oh, they knowed their man. An’ I, -that obligin’, cudn’t say no till thim. If I’d hardened me heart like -Phareyo<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span> we wudn’t be knowin’ aitch other this blessed minnit; so ’tis -glad I am that I’m mild as a mid-summer night by nature an’ -dishposition. Let’s limber up a bit afore we shtart ag’in on our -thravels; ’tis shtiff I am in the fate av me. All hands down the middle, -sashy to corners. Gintlemin, take your pardners—gintlemin twirl your -gurrls! Ladies change!”</p> - -<p>He roared out the calls, as he had so often done in the different -taverns when he sat with his fiddle beneath his chin and played such -enlivening strains that nobody who heard them could keep still. This -time, however, he was going to cut pigeon-wings himself, and do -wonderful double-shuffles; and he needed both hands to swing his little -thistledown of a partner, so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span> the old fiddle lay undisturbed in the -bottom of the sleigh, while he whistled and sang the tunes with great -gusto.</p> - -<p>It was a scene unlike any he had ever known. Instead of the long, low -rooms with the candles, set a-row in bottles, spluttering through the -haze of dust and giving out, besides their meagre light, a smell of -dripping tallow, where the air was noisy with the scraping and pounding -of many feet, and shouts and laughter rose on every side, was this wide, -beautiful place with its pure white carpet and the roof of blue far, far -above. Its remote walls were hung with white, where the low hills -climbed skyward. And nearer, where the woods began, tall snow-crowned -trees stood, their branches shin<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span>ing with frost. Clumps of bushes, with -here and there a stunted isolated tree, dressed in the same glittering -garments, took on fantastic shapes as if they were spectators; nor were -they the only ones,—the furtive little people of the forest in feathers -and fur peeped out from their shelter to watch with all their eyes, and -then to murmur under their breaths: “How mad these mortals be!”</p> - -<p>Terry stood at one side of the road some distance beyond the sleigh, and -opposite him, her face aglow with excitement, her eyes like twin stars, -the child waited. As he bowed with a great flourish, bringing his old -cap to rest over his heart, she swept him a curtsey so low that her -skirts stood stiffly out on the ground,—“a cheese” she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span> would have -called it; then the next instant she sprang to her feet again and poised -on tip-toe, watching eagerly for his signal.</p> - -<p>“Now,” he called, “now, thin, darlint, ready.”</p> - -<p>She raised her right hand high in air, as if to meet the one he extended -toward her, and skimmed across the shimmering floor close, close to him; -their fingers met, clasped, parted—and she was in his place and he in -hers. Then dipping, bowing, swaying, they advanced, retreated, advanced -again; passed each other, now disdaining hands, each twisting and -turning alone as if the other did not exist; then repentant, meeting, -joining forces, and with hands crossed, setting off together—oh! happy -word—in swift sliding steps<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span> that scarcely touched the ground, so light -they seemed; and up the road and down the road they went, laughing, -shouting, singing. It was the maddest, merriest dance! The snow whirled -up from their flying feet in soft clouds, and lo! each tiniest particle -was a fairy; the air was full of graceful bending shapes fluttering here -and there, there and here, until at last, quite tired out, they dropped -to earth again to twinkle and sparkle, chattering softly to one another -of the fun they had had. Only an old man and a small child light of -heart and heels dancing out there in the wide country, do you say? Oh, -no! oh, no! Santa Claus and his little sweetheart; and, as if that were -not happiness enough, there were the others besides,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span>—the snow fairies -(and no dancers are like them anywhere), and the spirits of the plains -sending back the gay music and laughter, and the spirits that dwell in -the woods in their soft shadowy robes winding between the trees in a -stately measure, and the spirits of the wind laughing softly among the -snow-laden, ice-gemmed branches, and the spirit of the high blue sky -smiling down on everything.</p> - -<p>Hitherto the little maid had only danced by herself, or with her shadow, -or her dolls,—those rather unsatisfactory partners whose limp legs went -every which way; but she was happy at all times because she kept the -fairy, Content, in her breast. Now joy came to her in larger fashion. -She waved her hand to sparkling earth<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span> and smiling sky as she darted up -and down like some belated butterfly caught tenderly up into the heart -of winter, a bit of glowing color. She saw the dancers in the -clearing,—young eyes are sharp eyes, surely!—and I think she caught -glimpses, too, of the shy woodland creatures peering out in open-mouthed -amazement; she blew a kiss toward them, anyway. Tired? Not a bit. Tired? -She could dance forever. Faster, faster, faster, like the little red top -at home she spun, and then slower, slow-er, and more slowly. The little -top always did that just before it hummed off to sleep. Faster again, -slow—Two strong arms caught her and flung her up quite high toward the -sky; how blue it was! Then—how blue<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span> Santa Claus’ eyes were, and how -they twinkled, giving back the picture of herself! She laughed into them -gayly, and his deep merriment echoed her flute-like notes. Swiftly he -carried her to the sleigh, wrapped her close in the thick rug again, -then sprang to his place, and gathered up the reins.</p> - -<p>“Och, ’tis the most thriminjious shtepper-out ye are,” he cried. “<span class="lftspc">’</span>Twas -the iligantest shport in the wurrld, bar none. Go on, me b’ys.”</p> - -<p>Jingle, jangle went the bells; sober music surely, after what had gone -before. It was like the little tune when the dance is done and the -lights are burning low that, no matter how jolly it may be, still sounds -sad, because in and out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span> its lilt run the words: “Good-by, pleasure, -good-by.”</p> - -<p>Jingle, jangle clashed the bells as Danny and Whitefoot settled very -gravely to their work. On and on they went, through the woods and over -the barren stretches, but always toward the north. There was no thought -of turning back.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III<br /><br /> -<span class="cspchd">EXIT SANTA CLAUS</span></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE air bit more keenly, for the afternoon was wearing on; already the -dazzling sparkles had vanished from the snow, and rosy sunbeams slipped -among the glistening tree shafts and lay with the tall shadows upon the -ground of the forest aisles. She nestled closer against him.</p> - -<p>“Tell me some more,” she urged.</p> - -<p>“Sure, ’tis me hist’ry from the cradle up that I’m afther tellin’ ye, -’tis your turn now. I don’t know so much as your name, though I do be -runnin’ away wid ye.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Muvver calls me heart-names—I telled you what; and uncle says -E-lis-a-beth when he’s cross, uvver times, child, or Betty. I wroted it -at the end—Betty Hammond. It was just make b’lieve writing, only I -thought you’d know—”</p> - -<p>“Aisy, swateheart, aisy! Av coorse I did.”</p> - -<p>“You got it, didn’t you?” she demanded, sitting bolt upright, and facing -him as the possibility of a dreadful mischance took possession of her -whole being.</p> - -<p>“What do ye mane, mavourneen?”</p> - -<p>“Why, the letter I wroted; oh, ever so long ago,—the letter that went -up the chimbly. I saw it fly away. Muvver says that’s the children’s -post-box ev’rywheres.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>A light dawned upon him; not, alas, from his own childhood, which had -been poor and sordid enough, and held no such golden make-believes, -though in other ways he had entered into the beautiful kingdom to the -utter forgetting of cold and hunger, want and sorrow, but from what he -had heard here and there from little lips in his long journey through -life. He had always been the children’s friend. He looked into her -anxious eyes, therefore, and winked slowly.</p> - -<p>“Whist, now! your Christmas letther,” he said, “an’ that’s what,—the -wan that towld me how to set to work. Come, say the list over slow till -I see if we both mane the same thing.”</p> - -<p>She put up her hand, and dragged his head down until his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span> ear was on a -level with her lips; then she poured in the secret, interrupted by happy -bursts of laughter.</p> - -<p>“Begorra, the stockin’ will have to be made av injy rubber, or’t will -burrst intoirely.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to put a chair under,” she confided hurriedly, “and if the -things won’t go quite in you can leave them there. Did you ’member ’em -all? The little crosses low on the paper I meant for kisses, you know.”</p> - -<p>“Howly St. Pathrick! I was afther thinkin’ they was extrys.”</p> - -<p>“You must get a most ’normous lot of letters,” she said thoughtfully, a -moment later.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Twould be aisier countin’ the sands on the sayshore than to count -thim,” he answered, entering<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span> heartily into his rôle of the jolly saint, -“me secretarries an’ under-secretarries niver rest at all; they do be -dhroppin’ wid fatague, the poor fellies! ’Tis entries they have to make, -an’ double-entries, an’ charges an’ counter-charges, an’ I must give -each wan my speshul suprevision—”</p> - -<p>“Do you burn our letters up after you’ve read them?”</p> - -<p>“Do I look like a man as wud desthroy his love-letters, alanna, fer -that’s what they are? Not me! I’ve the walls av me mansion papered wid -thim, an’ I’ve autygraph quilts an’ tablecloths made out av thim, an’ -curt’ins to me doors an’ windys, an’ sofy-pillers an’ chair-sates,—oh, -’tis an injaneyus mind I have. Sure, the shtuff av drames makes foine<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span> -wearin’ material, an’ don’t ye fergit it. I had to build an appindix to -me house year before last, an’ last year there was an addenda, an’ this -year I’m goin’ to t’row out an L, an’ if things continny the same I’ll -have to add the whole alphabet before I know it.”</p> - -<p>“Of course it must be a big place to keep all the toys of the world -there.”</p> - -<p>“Whist, me darlint, no house in the wurrld wud be big enough to howld -all the toys an’ all the drames av the childer too; an’ I’d sooner be -havin’ the latter than the former anny day. ’Tis as much as I can manage -to kape me autygraph collection intacks, so I have workin’ drawin’s av -the toys, an’ the big dipartmintal shtores in the cities an’ towns an’ -villidges do<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span> kape the rale articles. An’ by the same token I’ve me -dep-puties stationed iv’rywhere to git things ready forninst me comin’, -an’ thin I can make the journey wid the spade av the wind—”</p> - -<p>Her head dropped against his arm.</p> - -<p>“Not Whitefoot and Danny,” she said drowsily, “but Dancer and Prancer -and Vixen,—I like Vixen best in the picture; then there’s On-come-et, -and—”</p> - -<p>She didn’t finish her sentence, and he, looking down, discovered the -reason.</p> - -<p>“The darlint,” he said. “Faith, ’tis tired out complately ye are, an’ -the slape will refresh ye. Cuddle clost, mavourneen. ’Tis a day fer a -notch on the shtick annyway, an’ I’ll niver fergit it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>He tucked the rugs about her as tenderly as her mother could have done, -though his fingers were clumsy, and unused to such offices. Then, after -he had seen to her comfort, he bethought himself of his own, and had a -merry meeting with that Other,—quite a longish meeting this time,—and -he murmured the same toast, repeating the words again and again with -funny little nods by way of emphasis. After which he fell to singing, -rather loudly, the diverting history of “Kelly’s Cat”:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“It was on a Sunday evenin’—I’ll mind it evermore,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Whin Paddy Kelly wint to bed an’ fergot to bar the door,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The cat riz up an’ shook hersilf widout either dread or fear,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">An’ over the hollow to Barney’s she quickly thin did steer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i1">The night bein’ cold an’ stormy, an’ the cat bein’ poor an’ thin,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">An’ the windy, it bein’ open, she—”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>He broke off here, his chin falling forward on his chest. Danny and -Whitefoot, however, were used to his ways, and knew their own duty too -well to stop because the reins fell so slack on their backs; they jogged -on quite as steadily as if he were awake. It was a lonely country where -there was little travel, so there was no fear of meeting any one and no -reason for turning out; all they had to do was to keep on. Presently he -stirred and opened his eyes.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tis forty winks I’ve been havin’, an’ they’ve made a new man av me,” -he said, with a prodigious yawn. “But begorra, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span> dramed me arrm was -held in the grip av a monsther. ’Tis useless an’ shtiff it is this very -minnit. Faith, ’tis as sound aslape as if ould Pickett was tellin’ wan -av his wurrld widout ind shtories. Arrah! wake up wid ye—”</p> - -<p>He started to jerk his arm free, and glanced down with some impatience; -but the sight of what rested there made him pause. So that was the -monster he had dreamed was holding him fast! He had forgotten the child -for the moment, forgotten, too, the part he was playing; then everything -came back with a rush as he gazed at her peaceful little face.</p> - -<p>“Sure, ’tis no shtiffness at all, at all,” he muttered. “What’s the -weight av a feather fer a man to complain av? ’Tis like the touch<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span> av an -angel’s wing, so it is, an’ proud I am to fale it,—proud an’ plazed. -Lie shtill, <i>Cushla machree</i>, lie shtill.”</p> - -<p>But she had been partially aroused by his attempt to ease himself, and -very obligingly changed her position, cuddling down on the seat. He -helped to fix her anew, murmuring fond little phrases, and as her -eyelids fluttered open he bade her go to sleep again. She obeyed without -question; the air made her very drowsy, and the steady forward motion of -the sleigh was like the lulling of a cradle. He began to sing again -almost immediately, though in a subdued key, and still about “Kelly’s -Cat.” But he took scant pleasure in the song; half of its fun lay in -hearing the laugh<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span>ter it always evoked, and he missed her silvery -merriment. To sing a comic song just for one’s own amusement is rather -dreary work, after all. Everything is better when it is shared; a laugh -is always jollier, and even the heaviest sorrow will grow lighter at a -true word of sympathy.</p> - -<p>He did not complete the history of the celebrated combat, therefore, but -after a few lines brought it to a close and began something else. Then, -before he knew it, a song that had lived in the background of his memory -for many years found its way, for the little child’s sake, to his lips. -Curiously enough it didn’t seem to him that he was singing it, for -through the words he could hear his mother’s worn voice carrying the -tune for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span>ward, and his own voice, the best in all the country round for -trolling out a drinking catch or some fantastic rigamarole set to music, -grew so tender that the roisterers at Wistar’s, or up at Merle, would -never have recognized it. But if they could have heard him they wouldn’t -have laughed; the song would have been like a little key unlocking the -gates of childhood; even if the words had been unfamiliar to them the -sweet sounds would have taken them back.</p> - -<p>After he had finished singing he sat very still, one hand holding the -reins, the other resting gently on the warm little bundle at his side; -but his thoughts were far back in that distant past where, because of -his light heart, he only dwelt on the golden spots—and his nature had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span> -made many such. Then he began to build some castles in that dear, -impossible, ever-true country where one may rear the most beautiful -houses and have them ready to be lived in in the wink of an eye; where -there are never any vexing questions of rent, or taxes, and one doesn’t -have to bother about gas, or electricity (such a wonderful lighting -system as they have there, by the way!), and there are never any repairs -to be made. Perhaps a prosaically minded architect would never have -called Terry’s dream-house a castle, but such sober matter-of-factness -is not to be envied. Very much happier are the people who live in the -clouds at times, though they do have many a tumble to earth, than the -ones who never see things<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span> through the rose-colored glasses of fancy, -but plod along in the dull light of a common grayness.</p> - -<p>Terry belonged to the first kind, and because his mind was still full of -the nonsense he had uttered to his companion he began to build a -beautiful palace where the dreams of little children could come true. On -every side he could see their wishes written plainly, sometimes in -copy-book writing, sometimes in big print, and sometimes again in those -funny, wavering uphill lines that Santa Claus never fails to read. And -everywhere he could hear merry laughter and shouts, and the sounds of -scrambling, racing feet. It was a beautiful palace! He chuckled to -himself, seeing it so distinctly, and then,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span> suddenly—very -suddenly—just in front of him, a trifle at one side of the road, stood -a small, square house of the sort that your eminently practical, -no-thought-of-beauty contractor would build. Terry’s hand, reins and -all, went up to his eyes to clear the mist from before them. Impossible! -He knew the country as well as Danny and Whitefoot, and he knew, too, -that no such house stood there; the shantymen’s hut, the only human -habitation for miles, was still some distance off. He looked again -sharply, convinced that in the darkening land some snow-covered tree had -taken on the likeness to a building. And he was quite right—there was -no house.</p> - -<p>The bells smote the air sullenly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span> and soberly as the horses started once -more on their patient, even course; they did not merit the sharp flap of -the reins on their backs,—they were doing their best. Terry tried to go -on with his dreams, but the thread of fancy once broken is hard to -recover; he caught bravely at it—and there stood the house again, -square, squat, unpicturesque, with the low stable at one side connected -by the covered way, as is the custom in cold countries. He rubbed his -eyes, and it was gone again—they had driven right through it! He -laughed, but not gayly. Two parts of him seemed to be dreaming—the one -that built a castle for little children, the other that thought of -solemn, elderly folk. He began to sing:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Now Mrs. McGrath to the Sargint said,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">‘Sure I’d like me son to be a corpril made,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Wid a foine rid coat an’ a goold laced hat—<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Och Tiddy me b’y, wuddent you like that?<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Musha ti ral la—’<span class="lftspc">”</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>It was no use! The house was quite near him again, with its chimney -breathing out a soft little line of smoke, and its tin roof dull in the -level light—the roof that had flashed like a reproving eye hours -earlier. And then he knew! He turned and looked back fearfully. As far -as he could see there was no sign of life; before him it was the same -tale—even the house his fancy had conjured up had vanished. It was very -still save for the bells on his horses, and they were not clinking -merrily just then, only giving out a monoto<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span>nous jog-trot sound that did -not deafen him to the faint voice crying very far away: “Dear my little -own, where are you?” He shivered among his furs, still looking back, and -sobbingly the words came again: “Dear my little own, where are you?”</p> - -<p>Danny and Whitefoot pawed the snow uneasily. Merle was still distant, -and they were anxious to be at rest; they even determined to pull more -steadily, more swiftly; they had been saving their best wind for that, -but the hand on the reins kept them still.</p> - -<p>“Och! wurra, wurra, that iver I shtooped to desate,” the old man -murmured. “What will I do wid juty sayin’ ‘go forrard,’ an’ juty sayin’ -‘go back’? ’Tis most thirty miles from the shantymen’s hut to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span> that -lonely little house, an’ I can’t take the journey over ag’in. Whist -there, mither, wid your callin’ to the colleen, or ’tis cracked me heart -will be intoirely. Aisy now! the voice av you is far away loike, an’ yet -’tis plain as thunder in me ears. Sure, I thought the fun av the wurrld -was in this thing, an’ I meant no harm at all—whist there, mither dear! -They do be waitin’ fer me up at Merle,—thim an’ the Christmas fun—an’ -Christmas only comin’ wanst a year!—an’ there’s the wager besides. Och! -wurra, wurra, what will I do? I must go on, but ’tisn’t wid me the -darlint can be goin’.”</p> - -<p>He recognized that very clearly now when it was almost too late. His -home as the child dreamed of it and his home as it really was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span> were two -very different things. He couldn’t take her to the tavern at Merle, with -its rough, carousing crowd—such fun was not for her—and he had nowhere -else to go. Then he thought of the road ever getting darker and darker, -of the frozen lake with its treacherous ice that he must cross, of the -night growing colder—he knew how to keep himself warm, but it was -another matter where she was concerned. And when he went driving into -Merle to claim his bet his hand might not be steady—that had happened -so often before! and there was that ugly bit just below the tavern, -where even the most careful driver must pick his way warily; but with a -little child—the thought made him giddy. No—no—no—he couldn’t take -her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span> with him, that was impossible! And equally he saw, because he knew -himself so well, he couldn’t take her back to her mother’s longing arms. -He couldn’t go back! He sat quite still, turning over different plans in -his mind, while the precious minutes slipped by unheeded. Finally his -brow cleared a trifle. There was but one solution to the difficulty—the -lumbermen might help him—must help him; he would see that they had no -choice in the matter. As he reached this decision some of his old -reckless daring came back to him; but he bore himself in a shamefaced -fashion, and with none of his usual jauntiness, though he straightened -his shoulders, and tried to appear unconcerned. He began to whistle, -too, as if to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span> silence the wailing cry that still pursued the sleigh—he -would not let himself listen.</p> - -<p>“Och! child,” he said, looking down at the little maid, “<span class="lftspc">’</span>tis sorry I am -fer ye, darlint, but ’twill all come right in the mornin’—throubles -always do. Whist now! ’tis sorriest I am fer mesilf, since I can’t help -mesilf at all—I bein’ what I am, ye see.”</p> - -<p>He put his hand into his coat, and though his fingers came in contact -with the flat bottle, they did not draw it forth; they groped farther, -past the inner coat and beneath the blouse, to something that hung -against his chest suspended from a cord. When he brought out his hand it -held a dingy little bag. He stripped off the outer covering, disclosing -a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span> cheap gilt locket and the half of a broken sixpence. With shaking -fingers he took a wisp of hair from the trinket, and wrapping it up -again thrust it back into his breast; but the locket and the coin he -folded in a bit of newspaper, and stooped once more to the child.</p> - -<p>“Sure, it ain’t a dolly that will shut its eyes, mavourneen, that I do -be givin’ ye fer a Christmas gift,” he whispered; “but mebbe ye’ll like -it fer the sake av wan as loved it. An’ God Almighty an’ all the howly -saints bless ye feriver an’ iver, amin.”</p> - -<p>She stirred at his touch and opened her eyes, misty still with sleep. -For a moment she looked at him in some doubt, then, as she struggled -into a sitting position, she laughed gayly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh! it’s really and truly you.” Her glance swept their surroundings. -“And are we home now—at your very home? Is that it?”</p> - -<p>The walls of the lumbermen’s hut showed indistinctly through the -clearing. It was almost dark; the night that comes swiftly in the north -lands was folding its mantle like a great soft wing over the whole -country, though in the west there was still a faint streak of rose, as -if the day was sorry to go, and so it lingered in that little tender -time between the lights, when one can dream best of all.</p> - -<p>“Is that home?” she asked again, very softly.</p> - -<p>“Listen, Swateheart. But first take this wee packidge—Aisy, now! ye -mustn’t fale the edges<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span>—an’ shtow it away in your pocket if ye have -wan; ’tis not to be looked at, nor so much as prodded, mind ye, till -sunrise to-morry. Remimber! An’ second—faith, me second is hardest fer -me, fer ’tis good-by I must be sayin’.”</p> - -<p>Her lip trembled.</p> - -<p>“But I’m goin’ with you all the way,” she declared stoutly.</p> - -<p>“Sure, an’ I wish it from me heart, only ’tis partin’ we must be. Ye see -ye can go on, an’ Danny an’ Whitefut will be proud to draw ye; but ’tis -’most night, an’ the way gets bad up yonder, an’ there’s the lake to -cross, an’ I’m not always the stiddy driver—to me shame be it said—”</p> - -<p>“I’d sit very still—”</p> - -<p>“An’ ’twill be cold, bitther cold! Thin I’ve been thinkin’, I did<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span>n’t -tell ye this afore; but no child has iver seen me house—’tis a thing av -drames (an’ sure that’s the truth!). Whisper now, cud ye see it, it wud -all split to smither-eens wid a crack like doom. An’ where wud I be -thin? The folks wud have to do widout me, I’m thinkin’—”</p> - -<p>“The little children—us?” she asked round-eyed.</p> - -<p>“That wud be the size av it. Av coorse ye could kape on wid the -dep-puties; I’ve trained thim well, an’ the spirit av Christmas niver -dies, the givin’ an’ the lovin’, fer the Lord made thim in his own -imidge. But ye’d be missin’ me, ye know.”</p> - -<p>She was very still, the little pucker showing between her anxious -brows.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’ve an iligint plan. Yon’s a foine place to spind the night, an’ -iv’rything will come right in the mornin’. Oh! ye’ll see. An’ ye’ll hang -up your shtockin’ same as usuwil; but first ye must put that bit there -down in the toe av it, an’ ’twill be Merry Christmas all ’round. Will ye -tell me good-by now, swateheart, an’ let me go on to kape me wurrd that -I’ve been afther passin’ sacred-loike?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said gravely. “I wanted to see Vixen and Oncome-it close, but -I’ll let you go, ’count o’ the children, ev’rywheres.”</p> - -<p>He lifted her gently to the ground, and she stood quietly at one side -while he tumbled out the barrel and the bags from the back of the sleigh -with great caution. He could not stay for a word; al<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span>ready he had much -time to make up, and discussion of any sort, hospitality even, would -retard him. The light had quite disappeared from the west, and a few -pale stars—God’s candles, he called them—were beginning to kindle in -the dark above. He stooped to her.</p> - -<p>“Whin I’m gone, <i>Cushla machree</i>, ye’ll go to the door an’ they’ll let -ye in—they’re foine fellies. ’Tis but a shtep up there annyhow; ye -can’t niver miss it—see, where the rid light shows t’rough the cracks. -An’ ye’ll not ferget me, little wan?”</p> - -<p>“No—no,” she choked.</p> - -<p>He caught her in his arms and kissed her; but though he held her very -close, he could not see her face well because of the misty curtain<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span> that -had dropped suddenly before his eyes. In that moment he realized how -far, how very far, below her thought of him he really was. He put her -down almost roughly, detaching the little clinging fingers with scant -tenderness, and sprang into the sleigh. An instant, from that vantage -point, he looked her way; then Danny and Whitefoot, surprised into using -their best wind by a fierce sting of the whip, dashed into the dark, -their bells swinging out a sharp, tremulous cry of bronze that cut the -air like a knife.</p> - -<p>“Good-by,” she called in a breaking voice.</p> - -<p>And back from the distance came the answer:</p> - -<p>“Good-by, little swateheart. God love ye an’<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">{96}</a></span>—”</p> - -<p>She stood waiting, listening to the bells that grew faint and fainter -until they were like a chime from Fairyland; when at last her loving -ears could hear them no longer she turned and trotted obediently to the -house. The door was closed, but a narrow thread of light glimmered -warmly at the sill, and a tiny fiery eye peeped out half way up the dark -surface. She struck the wood with her little clinched fist; struck it -once, then again—a twig snapping off in the teeth of the frost would -have sounded louder.</p> - -<p>From within there came the noise of many voices and great bursts of -laughter, but no lessening of the merriment made room for her appeal.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/facing096.jpg"> -<img src="images/facing096.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>She stood waiting, listening to the bells.</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">{97}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV<br /><br /> -<span class="cspchd">CHRISTMAS EVE AT THORNBY’S</span></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>T was a large, roughly-finished room, lighted for the most part by the -great heap of logs that blazed on the hearth, though a lantern fixed -against the wall, at the opposite side, in front of a tin reflector, -shone bravely, as if to say that it was doing its best despite the fact -that no one heeded its efforts. For the occupants of the room, without -an exception, were gathered about the camboose, or fireplace, where in -the full glow of the leaping flames a number of stockings were hung; not -because<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">{98}</a></span> it was Christmas Eve, but for the more prosaic reason that they -must be dried. Every working day showed the same display,—the men, on -an average, hanging up two or three pairs apiece. Still they were -keeping their Christmas Eve vigil after a fashion, though it was not in -the orthodox way, and, notwithstanding its noise, it lacked the real -flavor of the blessed season.</p> - -<p>“What was that?” Shawe asked suddenly.</p> - -<p>“Didn’t hear a blessed thing. Fire ahead, Sandy; ev’ry chap’s got a -stunt to do this night, an’ the fust lot’s fell to you. Come, -begin—Where’s that lazy raskill Terry? He’d oughter be’n here hours -agone.”</p> - -<p>“Back at Wistar’s,” a young fellow growled. “Told yer what<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">{99}</a></span> to expect -when yer singled him out to fetch the grub. A sorry Christmas we’ll -have. Any meal left in the bar’l, Cooky?”</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Nough to make pap fer you in the mornin’, kid,” Cooky responded with a -grunt, “so don’t be sheddin’ tears—you an’ yer delikit appetite will -pull t’rough. ’Tis plum-puddin’ the child was expectin’.”</p> - -<p>The young fellow laughed almost good-naturedly.</p> - -<p>“Gorry! what’d I give to smell a plum-puddin’ even. There was a -Christmas oncet when I’d the taste o’ one. There was turkey before, an’ -the bird was a tip-topper, but it don’t live in my mem’ry like the -puddin’. <i>That</i> come in with a wreath o’ greens ’bout its brown head, -an’ its sides<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">{100}</a></span> crackin’ open with plums the size o’ Jake’s thumb there. -An’ there was clouds o’ incinse risin’ from it, an’ the smell o’ the -burnin’ sperits, an’ the blue flames lickin’ each other with joy at the -taste they got—’Tis before my eyes this bloomin’ minnit, an’ my ears is -deafened with the roars the fellers sent up; you could ha’ heard ’em a -mile off—”</p> - -<p>A chorus of protesting voices interrupted further reminiscences. “Shut -up, will yer?” “T’row him out, some one.” “You’ve no call to make our -mouths water so.”</p> - -<p>“A pudden,” a thin-faced man said dreamily as the din subsided, “I never -seed its like. An’ a-fire, you say. What was thet fer?”</p> - -<p>“Why, fer the celebration, ijit.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">{101}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Begorra,” another voice broke in, “I’d like to live in the counthry -where they’ve the crayther to burn. Did it smell good?”</p> - -<p>“Smell good?” again the young fellow laughed. “<span class="lftspc">’</span>Twas better than a -gardin full o’ roses when the wind blows soft an’ warm over ’em; ’twas -finer an’ more penatratin’ than the o-dick-alone the tenderfoots parfume -themselves with. An’ there was the sarse besides, with a dash o’ rum in -it to make it slip down easier.”</p> - -<p>“Sarse!” The ejaculation was a groan. “My things come plain.”</p> - -<p>“Thet’s about the size o’ it fer ev’ry mother’s son of us,” some one -began philosophically, then in helpless rage at the turn affairs had -taken he finished with a wail: “Hang thet Terry O’Connor.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102">{102}</a></span> He’d oughter -remembered tomorrer’s Christmas—”</p> - -<p>“Christmas is like any other day to us,” an elderly chopper interposed -grimly. “It’s only meant fer the kids.”</p> - -<p>A man near the fire stirred restlessly.</p> - -<p>“Back there,” he said, with a sweep of his thumb, “they hang up the -stockin’s all in a row—six of ’em!—an’ my woman makes shift to fill -’em, too—”</p> - -<p>“How they chitter in the mornin’,” another man chimed in, “before it’s -reely light. Don’ know as there’s any sound quite so nice as that. Wisht -I was home to hear it—Gord! I do.”</p> - -<p>“Never hed no little stockin’ hangin’ afore my chimbly,”—the occupant -of the big barrel chair<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103">{103}</a></span> looked into the blaze thoughtfully as he made -the statement, “baby’s sock was too teeny that fust year, an’ after—”</p> - -<p>“Faith, I niver had no chimbly av me own at all,” a reckless voice -interrupted with a hard laugh. “Here to-day, an’ gone to-morrer, an’ -divil a sowl to care where I was. It made little differ to me thin, but -’tis a wide wurrld an’ a lonely wan when a man’s gittin’ on in the -years.”</p> - -<p>“Only got so fur ez the patty-cakin’ age, ez you might say,”—it was the -man in the barrel chair who was speaking again,—“but turr’ble -over-masterin’—turr’ble! When ye come to think uv it, there ain’t -anything like a baby fer over-masterin’ness; he jes’ makes a clean sweep -o’ ev’ry blessed thing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104">{104}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>The Frenchman in the corner leaned forward excitedly.</p> - -<p>“I nevaire hang ze stockin’ up zat time I was what you call a keed,” he -cried, “but zere was a leetle tree an’ a Christ chil’ up at ze ver’ top. -Zey had eet een ze <i>église</i> an’ every chil’ een ze pareesh was made ver’ -happy. So for two-t’ree years did I get a—a—what you say?”</p> - -<p>“A present, Frenchy.”</p> - -<p>“But yes, a—a prresent. Zen I must go to worrk, an’ Christmas eet is -ovaire for me. ‘<i>Adieu, beaux jours de mon enfance!</i>’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>The leaping firelight fell upon grave faces; dear, lazy laughter had -slipped very far away from the warmth and glow.</p> - -<p>“What’s that?”</p> - -<p>“You’re like an ould faymale<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105">{105}</a></span> widdy woman, Shawe, wid your fidgits an’ -starts, an’ your inquisitiveness. That? ’Tis an ash fallin’ to the -hearth; ’tis a burd askin’ to be let in; ’tis Christmas come to hunt us -up far from home an’ the frien’s we love so dear. Man alive! if you’re -so set to know what it is, go an’ find out fer yoursilf.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, go an’ be hanged to you!” The chorus was unanimous.</p> - -<p>Shawe did not wait for the permission, go he would; as for being hanged, -that was quite another matter. He left his place in the warm corner, -and, picking his way dexterously over the tangle of outstretched legs, -he strode across the room to the door, flinging it wide. The cold air -rushed in in a great gust that caused the men to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106">{106}</a></span> shiver in their -places, and made some of them swear angrily at him; but he did not heed -their words. His ear had earlier caught a faint cry, yet as he stood -facing the night his level eyes saw nothing in the darkness; then the -sound came again, and this time quite far below him. His glance fell; -the next moment he started back in amazement.</p> - -<p>“My God!” he cried sharply.</p> - -<p>There was a great creaking of stools and boxes in the room behind him as -the men, startled out of their indifference by his exclamation, turned -to see what had occasioned it, those who were farthest away rising to -their feet and craning curiously over the shoulders of their companions -in front. Shawe had moved a trifle to one side, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107">{107}</a></span> they had an -unobstructed view through the open door, that framed the glimpse of the -dark world without, of the strip of snow in the foreground gleaming -ruddily with lamp and firelight; and just where the glow fell brightest -stood a little child, her face raised in entreaty. For a long moment -they looked with held breaths, incredulous, wondering, half fearful that -the vision would disappear at the least movement on their part; several -of their number made the quick sign of their creed, and one man covered -his eyes with a shaking hand, but no one spoke. Then Shawe stooped to -her.</p> - -<p>“Who are you?” he asked very gently, touching the little flesh-and-blood -shoulder with tender fingers; she was no spirit then.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108">{108}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’m Santa Claus’ sweetheart,—you know Santa Claus. He left some things -for you out there, then he went away.”</p> - -<p>“Mother o’ Moses! the child must mane Terry,” one of the men, quicker -than the rest, exclaimed. “The ould riprobate! An’ but fer your ears, -Shawe, she might ha’ be’n froze shtiff fer all we’d knowed—an’ -Christmas Day to-morrer.”</p> - -<p>Shawe drew his breath hard.</p> - -<p>“Thank God, I did hear,” he said through his closed teeth; then he -lifted the small stranger in his arms, and as the thronging men fell -back on either side he carried her through the little lane thus formed -up to the fire. He put her down gently and knelt before her, chafing her -hands and face with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109">{109}</a></span> rapid touches; after a few moments thus spent he -set clumsily to work to unfasten her hood and coat. She kept very still -while he knotted instead of unknotting the strings, only her eyes moving -from face to face frankly curious, yet without an atom of fear in their -glance. There were forty pairs of eyes to meet, and in each she left a -little smile.</p> - -<p>At last the outer wrappings were cast aside, and, as Betty stood before -them, a small, slim figure, very different in appearance from the -shapeless, roly-poly bundle of a short time previous, with her fair hair -ruffled into little curls and tendrils that made a soft nimbus about her -head, she seemed even more like some lovely spirit than they, awed by -the strangeness of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110">{110}</a></span> coming, had thought her. Yet her first action -was quite sufficient to remove all doubts that she belonged to another -sphere. Those inquisitive eyes of hers, taking a survey of the room and -its inmates, lighted suddenly upon the stockings dangling before the -fire; they widened at the sight, then the smiles brimmed over and her -whole face broke up into glee. How could she feel strange, or afraid, in -a place where—big, grown-up men though they all were—such signs of -expectancy were so openly displayed? She slipped from the protecting arm -and ran close to the hearth, clapping her hands in delight.</p> - -<p>“Oh! you’re all ready for Santa Claus,” she cried. “My! how he’ll have -to work—there’s such<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111">{111}</a></span> a ’normous lot. But he’ll fill ’em all.” She -threw out this balm in eager haste. “He’s truly coming; he said so. If -I’d gone home with him his house would have cracked to—to smither-eens, -so I stayed.”</p> - -<p>A deafening roar of laughter greeted her words and sent her, unerringly -as a homing bird, back to her first friend, who still knelt on the -floor; but resting against him her fears vanished almost instantly, and, -as she glanced around with renewed confidence, her pretty silvery laugh -tinkled out to join their rougher merriment. The men pressed closer, one -of them, the oldest, acting as spokesman. He was the man whose chimney -had never seen any Christmas stockings hanging before it, the baby’s -sock being too tiny in that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112">{112}</a></span> far-away year; but he seemed to know better -than any of them how to ask just the right questions that would set free -the little tongue. Betty climbed gladly up on his knee, and from her new -perch poured forth an account of her wonderful adventures.</p> - -<p>It was the fault of her companions, surely, and not her own that the -things that were so real and true to her were like myths out of -Fairyland to them, because they had travelled farther down the stream of -time. Much of what she said was unintelligible to their dull, grown-up -minds; but if each word had been of gold they could not have waited for -it more eagerly; and when she stopped in her recital of that marvellous -journey to laugh at some remembrance of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113">{113}</a></span> Santa Claus’ fooling, they -looked at one another, smiling in perfectest sympathy. Perhaps, after -all, they understood—who shall say? There was no interruption, except -when old Jerome hazarded some remark that helped on the tale; and the -only person to move was a tall, gaunt man, who bent mysteriously over -the fire and made something that smelled like—like the most delicious -thing in all the world. You have to ride for hours through the snow, and -feel the keen air in your face, and be as hungry as a bear into the -bargain, to know just what that is.</p> - -<p>By some remarkable law of coincidence the story and the cooking came to -an end at one and the same moment; nothing could have been more timely. -Betty’s whole atten<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114">{114}</a></span>tion was quickly transferred to the tin plate which -was placed before her; and her evident appreciation of the good things -of life was so keen that the lookers-on, who even in that short time had -learned that their rougher ways frightened her, laughed gently among -themselves. Well, they understood that too! While she was busy over her -supper, to the utter forgetting of her surroundings, several of the men -went outside to see if they could find any traces of the recreant Santa -Claus; they returned after a hasty search, bringing in the barrel and -bags—sufficient proof that Terry, despite all convictions, wise -head-shakings, and gloomy forebodings, had not failed them. He had kept -his word. But the mystery deepened—Who was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115">{115}</a></span> little maid? Aside from -her name, which was an unfamiliar one to them, they had not been able to -learn anything definite about her. The excited little brain only seemed -to live over the immediate past, in which Santa Claus had figured so -importantly; the fact that she was his sweetheart apparently outweighing -every other consideration.</p> - -<p>“Terry O’Connor hain’t a chick, nor child, an’ never hed,” old Jerome -declared stoutly, as somebody ventured this solution of the difficulty, -“nor there ain’t any kin b’longin’ to him—guess I orter know—I’ve -knowed him ’nintimut these thirty years—”</p> - -<p>“Losh, man!” interrupted Sandy, “then he just inveegled the bairn awa’, -makin’ oot he was Santa Claus. The e-normity of it!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116">{116}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Terry must olluz be jokin’; it’s his way,” Jerome returned -tolerantly. With his arm around the small form, and the little golden -head resting on his breast, he was knowing one of the rare, happy -moments of his life; there could be scant condemnation from him under -the circumstances.</p> - -<p>Betty, who had been alternately blinking at the fire, and smiling -contentedly to herself for some time, now interrupted any dispute that -might have arisen concerning her absent friend by giving utterance to a -series of baby yawns. The discussion came to a speedy close, such signs -needing no interpretation to her hearers.</p> - -<p>“Don’t ye want to go to sleep, deary?” the old man asked.</p> - -<p>She signified her willingness<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117">{117}</a></span> without delay, though first her stocking -must be hung up among the others. He proceeded to draw it off; but -before that could be accomplished, he was let into the secrets the -buttons on your shoe always tell,—what you are to be, what you will -wear, and in what manner you will travel through life,—in carriage, -cart, wheelbarrow, or wagon. When this “sure-as-sure” knowledge had been -mastered he stripped off the stocking, and Shawe, imperiously summoned, -came close and put the wee packet, as she directed, way down in its very -toe; then he hung it up in the centre, where even the blindest deputy, -supposing Santa Claus unable to get round, would never have passed it -by. A rollicking little cheer went up at sight of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118">{118}</a></span> the small red -stocking swinging slightly to and fro in the breath of the fire; but it -died away on the instant, for the child had slipped to the floor and -knelt there by the old man’s knee, her face hidden in her chubby hands. -Perhaps in the intense stillness she missed the voice that generally -guided hers, for there was a moment of hesitation on her part; then she -began to pray aloud, halting over the words:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Jesus, tender shepherd, hear me;<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Bless thy little lamb to-night,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">In the darkness be thou near me,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Keep me safe till morning light.<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Let my sins be all forgiven,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Bless the friends I love so well,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Take me when I die to heaven,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">There for ever with thee to dwell.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>She paused, a moment: “And please, God, take care of muvver,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119">{119}</a></span> and uncle, -and far-away daddy, and make Betty a good girl f’rever and ever. Amen.”</p> - -<p>It was very still all around; and usually when she finished her prayers -a soft cheek was laid against her own, while a soft voice echoed, -“Amen,” and that meant “my heart wants it to be exactly so!” Now, -however, no one spoke. Betty glanced wonderingly about as she rose to -her feet, a trifle dazed and even frightened; but such grave, quiet, -<i>kind</i> faces looked back at her that swiftly she dropped to her knees -again with another petition: “God bless ev’rybody, an’ most speshilly -Santa Claus.”</p> - -<p>“Amen,” said old Jerome, in the pause that followed.</p> - -<p>A bed had been hastily con<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120">{120}</a></span>structed in the warmest corner, out of the -best materials the camp afforded, and thither Jerome carried the child. -She nestled down drowsily while he tucked the covering about her; but -his was an alien touch, and through the room there suddenly sounded a -low, wailing cry:</p> - -<p>“Muvver—oh! muvver—”</p> - -<p>“There, Honey; there, Blossom—” the man’s voice broke, the hand that -soothed was clumsy and old, and it trembled—“there, Honey—”</p> - -<p>The men sat breathless—waiting, dreading to hear the cry again; but -moment after moment passed, and it did not come. There was one little -sob, then the dream-fairy stooped with her comfort.</p> - -<p>How quiet the room was! And<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121">{121}</a></span> this was Christmas Eve—the time when each -man was to do a stunt for the amusement of his fellows and the glory of -himself. Generally on this occasion the Lord of Misrule held high -carnival,—the flowing bowl was like a perpetual fountain, and laughter, -shouting, and horse-play abounded on every side. There was rum in plenty -since Terry had not failed them, but no effort was made to secure it; -desire of that kind was dead, it seemed. They were content to sit there -listening to the soft rise and fall of the child’s breath; the land of -dreams, into which she had slipped, open to them also. And though it was -so different from those other Christmas Eves, it was far from being -dull. Into each heart there had crept a soft glow,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122">{122}</a></span> which did not come -from the blazing logs, and which no grog, no matter how skilfully -blended, could have given, for once again the presence of one of God’s -little ones made holy a humble place.</p> - -<p>Shawe was the first to bring the stillness to an end. They had been -sitting quiet, nobody could tell how long, when he got to his feet. -Noiselessly as he moved he broke the spell, and eyes that had grown -misty looked at him, some with resentment, others with curiosity, and -others again with reproach. Old Jerome’s gaze held the latter quality. -Nobody knew much about Shawe, anyway. He was not one of them. He had -come to the camp some weeks before, and would be gone in a day or so—up -to Merle <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123">{123}</a></span>this time, and then—He was a wanderer—some outcast, perhaps, -from a better life gone by. Nobody knew him. They had no quarrel with -him; he was a good enough fellow, only not of them. They watched him, -therefore, almost coldly, yet noting with jealous satisfaction that he -stepped warily as he passed from the room; then they fell to thinking -again—with a difference.</p> - -<p>He came back after a short absence with a soft, dark mink’s skin in his -hand,—a bit of fur that a woman’s fingers could fashion into a cap to -cover a child’s golden hair,—and went to the small stocking, cramming -the gift far down to keep that other company. A breath of approval -fairly twinkled around the room. The grave faces melted into smiling -delight; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124">{124}</a></span> just as the circles widen in a pool of water when a stone -is thrown in, spreading farther and farther till the whole surface is -disturbed, so every one present came within the influence of Shawe’s -action. As if by one accord the men hurriedly left their places, making -scarcely any noise, yet jostling against one another in their eagerness -to play at being Santa Claus; each man seeking out his kit, and -returning with what would be the likeliest thing to please a little -child.</p> - -<p>A bright red handkerchief, an orange one, a third as many colored as -Joseph’s coat, an old <i>habitant</i> sash worth its weight in gold to a -connoisseur, a scarf-pin set with a cairngorm the size of a man’s -thumb-nail—this from Sandy<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125">{125}</a></span>!—a—you mustn’t laugh—a pair of brand-new -suspenders, and big and little coins that spelled liquor or tobacco to -the givers, and now bought what pleased them infinitely more. Of course -one stocking couldn’t begin to hold the gifts, though they were massed -into a dizzy pyramid at the top, so its mate was pressed into service -and crowded likewise. There was a distressing similarity in the presents -when you came to think of it, especially where handkerchiefs were -concerned; still, no man withheld his giving because another’s choice -was necessarily the same; he added his contribution proudly, as if it -were the only one of its kind. Frenchy, who had a pretty trick of -carving, gave a really beautiful little frame which his deft fingers<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126">{126}</a></span> -had made in the long evenings; and the cook, when no one was looking, -slipped in his prayer-book, though I don’t believe any one that night -would have laughed at his having it with him. The young fellow they -called Kid—he was something of a dandy—added a ring of massive -proportions. It wasn’t gold, but he pretended it was, and liked to wear -it when he went to dances to make the girls think he was a fine, -up-and-coming man. And Jerome—poor old Jerome—</p> - -<p>It was a very meagre kit that he rummaged through again and again,—one -that he himself had packed; and when a man has to take care of himself -he doesn’t put in any useless traps, any—what you’d call gewgaws; not -when<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127">{127}</a></span> he’s old, that is. So he could find nothing there; and a search -through his pockets revealed the same depressing poverty. He had -nothing—nothing but a certain battered snuff-box that had been his -companion for so many years that it would be easier to imagine him -without his head than without the box. He was evidently of that opinion, -for he stowed it down in his pocket with an air of great finality. But -nevertheless, polished to an almost glittering show of youth and filled -with coins, it very fitly crowned the motley collection.</p> - -<p>It had taken some time to play Santa Claus, for each man had to wait his -turn to stow away his gift; there were no deputies allowed on this -occasion, and the bungling<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128">{128}</a></span> fingers couldn’t work very quickly,—didn’t -try to, if the truth were known. But all too soon the joyful task came -to an end, and the men stood back radiant-eyed, looking at those bulging -little red stockings as if they were the most beautiful things in all -the world.</p> - -<p>How the glow spread and spread in their hearts, though the fire, banked -for the night, was shining quite dimly now! That mighty threefold cable -of the Christmas-tide—with its strand of inheritance, its strand of -opportunity, its strand of affection—bound them very closely to one -another; in that moment old wrongs and heart-burnings, bitternesses and -rivalries slipped away, and they knew the blessedness of peace and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129">{129}</a></span> -good-will. Happy? There was just one thing to make them happier,—the -merry voice of a little child greeting the misty light of the Christmas -dawn.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130">{130}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V<br /><br /> -<span class="cspchd">THE PEACE OF GOD</span></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>OWARD midnight somebody stepped close to the improvised bed and stood -looking down with troubled eyes at the child curled up among the -blankets there. The light from the low fire cast an occasional -flickering flame upon the tiny segment of cheek just visible above the -woollen covering, like a snowdrop peeping out of a mass of old bracken, -and on the floating strands of hair that had lost their golden sheen in -the semi-obscurity. An hour or so earlier the men had gone to their -bunks in the long loft<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131">{131}</a></span> overhead, and their heavy breathing now -proclaimed the fact that they were resting from their labors. Every one -in the house was sleeping but Shawe; even old Jerome, who sat huddled by -the side of the little one, nodded at his post. He had maintained the -right of watching, by supremacy of his years and her evident preference -for him, jealously putting aside all offers that his vigil be shared. He -stirred now and opened his eyes, staring into the face of the man above -him.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” he demanded with a low, savage growl.</p> - -<p>“I couldn’t sleep,” Shawe whispered back, “for thinking of the ones who -are mourning for her,—her mother and uncle. The father isn’t home, she -said. Don’t you remember—‘God bless far-away<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132">{132}</a></span> daddy’? So he won’t be -troubled. But the others—they ought to know. We’ve had all the -Christmas sport and they nothing but black misery and bitterness. They -ought to know quickly.”</p> - -<p>Old Jerome’s hand fluttered above the little head, half fell to it, then -was drawn reluctantly back.</p> - -<p>“Ye-es, they’d orter know,” he said dully, “but how? Who is she?” He -shifted his position, averting his eyes. “I’ve be’n thinkin’ thet -p’r’aps she’s nobut a little Christmus sperit come to cheer us in this -God forsook spot—”</p> - -<p>“That’s nonsense, man. Look at her sleeping there as human as we are, -though with a difference. I tell you she has kith and kin, and their -hearts are bleeding for her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133">{133}</a></span> at this moment. I’m going to find them—”</p> - -<p>“Ye sha’n’t take her with yer, Shawe,” the old man whimpered. “I’ll -roust up the others, an’ they’ll fight yer—I—I can’t; she’s made me -too trembly. But ye sha’n’t take her.”</p> - -<p>“You’re crazy! I’d no thought of taking her. It’s colder than charity -outside, and the frost is like a badger’s tooth. Besides, it must be -almost thirty miles to Wistar, and there’s no house nearer, is there? -No, I go by myself.”</p> - -<p>“An’ ef ye don’t win through—there’s thet chanst.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t—that’s all. But I’m not hopeless—I’ve got to win through.”</p> - -<p>“Best wait till mornin’,” Jerome said, after the silence between them<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134">{134}</a></span> -had grown unbearable, “p’r’aps somebody’ll be goin’ by from Merle, an’ -ye could git a lift, or p’r’aps her folks’ll come from somewhars—Ye -don’ know whar she come from, anyways,” he finished triumphantly.</p> - -<p>“We worked out the sum that she came with that man Terry. Everything she -said about Santa Claus fitted him like a glove, you—who know him—say. -And he came from Wistar, so she belongs there. Perhaps her people didn’t -miss her till late; and what traces would she leave if she came on in -his sleigh? Answer me that. How would they ever dream of searching for -her up here when there’s the river—Good God! a child like that wouldn’t -notice the spruce bush signals put up where the ice<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135">{135}</a></span> is thin; and there -are the open water-holes by the barns—” He stopped with a deep intake -of breath, and moved nearer the fire; Jerome, watching him furtively, -saw that he was fully dressed to go out.</p> - -<p>“Wal!” he muttered slowly, after a time, “ef ye be so sot on goin’, -ye’re goin’, I s’pose. P’r’aps ye’re right. Somehow I was only thinkin’ -from my side, an’ hedn’t got ’roun’ to the mother’s; mebbe an ol’ codger -like me never would ha’ got ’roun’—can’t say. Here’s my hand.”</p> - -<p>It was an unusual demonstration, but Shawe showed no particular -surprise; everything being a little out of the ordinary that night. He -grasped the extended hand warmly, then let it drop,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136">{136}</a></span> and turned away, -bending again for a moment over the sleeping child.</p> - -<p>“Wish I were going to hear her laugh over the stocking,” he said half to -himself.</p> - -<p>“Got a wife an’ fambly?” Jerome asked.</p> - -<p>“No,” the other returned.</p> - -<p>“Thought mebbe ye hed, ’count o’ yer thinkin’ how the mother’d -feel—mebbe ye hed oncet.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” Shawe answered shortly.</p> - -<p>“Then ye know how turr’ble masterful the kids are. Strange, ain’t it? -Mine hed got so ez he could patty-cake, ye understan’. Lord! there -warn’t never a sight like it—never. Thought fust ’twas a kinder fool -thing the mother’d learned it; but bless yer!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137">{137}</a></span> I didn’t think so long; -’twas the purties’ sight—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Patty-cake, patty-cake, baker’s man—’<span class="lftspc">”</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Shawe moved cautiously across the room, and paused at the door to look -back at the old man softly clapping his palms together. Something in his -glance recalled Jerome to a sense of his surroundings; he got up in his -turn and joined his companion.</p> - -<p>“Ye’ll keep an eye out fer them deers, won’t yer?” he whispered -anxiously. “Christmus Eve they all kneel in the woods an’ look up to -he’vin, ye know. Thet’s Injin talk ’roun’ here from way back; some o’ -the oldest fellers swear their folks seed the thing done. Can’t say -’xactly ez I b’lieve it myself, but ’twould be a purty sight—an’ -anyways, ye jes’ watch out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138">{138}</a></span> Wal, luck to ye, lad, luck to ye.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! you’ll see me again, never fear,” Shawe said lightly, to cover the -other’s concern. “I’m a bad penny. So long!”</p> - -<p>He let himself out into the night, closing the door speedily, and with -as little noise as possible; but quick as he had been, a blast of the -nipping air filled the room. Jerome hurriedly drew the blankets closer -about his little charge; then he stooped to the fire, coaxing it into a -brighter glow.</p> - -<p>“Fer a bad penny,” he mumbled, as he went back to his place, “Shawe -rings oncommon true. There ain’t nary of us ez would ha’ thought o’ -doin’ what he’s a-doin’—nary a blessed one of us. I swan he’s dif’runt -somehow<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139">{139}</a></span>—kinder apart, but square—square. Never knowed nothin’ ’bout -Shawe; hed to take him on his face value, so to say; he ain’t a gabbler -’bout himself, but gen-i-al—gen-i-al—an’ oncommon quick-witted inter -the barg’in. We’d a-waited till Kingdom come afore we’d thought ’bout -fillin’ them stockin’s ef he hedn’t started the game; an’ ’twas him ez -heerd her callin’ when the rest of us was deef ez postses. Hmm! mebbe—” -but praise and conjecture alike were silenced as the grizzled head -dropped forward and the old chopper fell into a heavy doze.</p> - -<p>Shawe, meanwhile, oblivious to both, thrust his hands deep into his -pockets, and started off on his lonely errand. It might prove fruitless, -but results were not for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140">{140}</a></span> him to consider; his was to do the duty of the -moment, and by the moment. Nor did it seem to him that he was doing -anything to be especially commended. He had been driven out into the -night by his thoughts of the distress in the child’s home, and once they -had taken possession of him it was impossible to stay warm and -comfortable in his bunk. He simply had to go—he could not wait. -Besides, he told himself, it wasn’t much; he had been out on nights to -which this, bitter as it was, was balmy by comparison. He had faced -gales, terrible as that chill wind which the old Moslem fable says will -blow over the earth in the last days, and yet had come safely through. -There was no air stirring at this time; the intense silent<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141">{141}</a></span> cold of the -North wrapped everything close. He was guarded against it, however, and -while he could keep in rapid motion he had little to fear from its -searching tooth.</p> - -<p>He drove his hands deeper into his pockets and strode on. The way had -been broken through some weeks earlier and was well defined; there was -no chance of missing it. In the clearing the night was as bright as day; -under the light of the moon the snow lay like an immense silver shield -across which the trees threw bars of shadow; but as the road wound -through the woods the brightness retreated in great measure, shimmering -only here and there through the high trunks, striking off a gleam from -this snowy head and that, or shiver<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142">{142}</a></span>ing down like a lance of steel as if -to pierce the deeper blackness which crouched beyond.</p> - -<p>Shawe knew no fear. He passed on silently and as swiftly as possible, -casting a wary glance around occasionally; but he seemed to be the only -living creature abroad that night. The deer, if there were any, were not -stirring, or his eyes, perhaps, were too sceptical to witness the simple -spectacle of their adoration. There was no sign of life anywhere. It was -almost as if it were the end of the world, and he the last man—the last -of creation—left on earth, so wide and empty were the spaces about him; -the great vault overhead, in which the moon and stars rode calmly, was -out of his pygmy reach.</p> - -<p>Presently, as the trees grew<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143">{143}</a></span> sparser and the road showed its slighter -depression through the plain of snow lying beyond like some frozen sea, -he became conscious of life and motion close at his side. With the -instinct of the woodland creatures, he held himself perfectly tense, and -waited. Then right across his path there lumbered a huge, clumsy shape, -its breath showing like smoke on the moonlit air. Suddenly great drops -of moisture stood out on Shawe’s face as if it were mid-summer, and his -weight of furs had become intolerable; he had never felt fear before, -yet now panic gripped him. It was not the thought of physical hurt that -appalled him, but rather the sense of the utter futility of his -endeavor. So the end had come; and over there, still very far away,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144">{144}</a></span> a -little child’s mother was sobbing—he could almost hear her moans.</p> - -<p>He stirred his hand from his pocket to his belt, and grasped the butt of -his pistol, drawing it forth swiftly. It might not be too late! His -finger was firm as iron as it touched the trigger; but the next instant -the beast slouched noisily into the shadows beyond. There was no other -sound—had been no other sound; the cartridges lay unused in their -chambers. Shawe lowered his hand. He had not been dreaming, he told -himself; he could swear to that. And the animal was no creature of -fancy; he had seen it quite plainly, had felt its breath as it passed, -had met the dull stare of its eyes. It was real,—as real as he was at -that moment, yet he had not fired<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145">{145}</a></span> because there had seemed no need—the -beast had simply disregarded him. Then suddenly Shawe laughed aloud, not -boisterously, but very gently,—the way you do sometimes when something -has happened that seems almost too good to be true, and the quick tears -rush into your eyes,—I think, perhaps, they were in his also.</p> - -<p>“It’s the peace of God,” he said softly to himself, “the peace of God—”</p> - -<p>For on the moment he remembered the old tradition he had heard in many -lands, that on the night before Christmas, from the day’s close to the -day’s coming, there is no slaughter anywhere among the beasts; that the -fiercest and most savage of them all are as harmless as doves to one -another, and even<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146">{146}</a></span> to their natural enemy—man. He put his pistol back -into his belt, unspeakably glad that no shot of his had broken the holy -truce. It was useless to try to account for what had happened. To -believe in the legend, or to laugh it away and attribute the animal’s -indifference to some natural cause. The whole experience—dream, or -reality—left him throbbing with a sense of gratitude that nothing had -interfered with his mission. The thought seemed to lend him greater -activity, as if his moccasined feet had suddenly become winged. There -could be no loitering anywhere while the mother mourned for her little -one, her voice crying vaguely, vainly, through that wonder-space of time -when, because of another Little Child,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147">{147}</a></span> God’s peace wrapped the earth -close.</p> - -<p>There were no landmarks discernible. Terry would have recognized certain -ones, as would also some of the lumbermen; but to Shawe, who was a -stranger, the whole country was unfamiliar; all he could do, therefore, -was to lessen the distance step by step, knowing that while he kept the -road he could not miss his destination. Yet he never lost heart, nor was -he particularly tired. As boy and man, much of his time had been spent -in the open. He was used to hardships, rough weather, and great -exertion; the present undertaking seemed slight compared to others he -had known.</p> - -<p>Presently the white light of early dawn crept faintly up,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148">{148}</a></span>—little Peep -o’ Day he’s called,—a tiny fellow, truly, to be sent out to fight the -darkness, and yet so persistent and undaunted that every moment he -glowed more confidently at his task, and grew bigger and bigger with his -efforts. The moon had looked scornfully at the coming of such an -adversary; but now she paled visibly, and called in her routed army of -moonbeams, while below,—the sleeping world laughed here and there at -the contest, stirring out of its slumbers. As soon as his duties were -accomplished, the little champion stole away, losing himself in the -brightness that filled the sky, and made it and the land look like -tinted silver; but nobody missed him, for the morning was at hand. There -was a gorgeous,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149">{149}</a></span> rosy flush along the east melting into purple, out of -which the sun came up like a wonderful flower, opening slowly, first -pink, then yellow, then red—and it was Christmas Day!</p> - -<p>Shawe’s eyes gladdened at the sight, though he did not pause; he -couldn’t—oh! now less than ever—now, he must hurry—hurry. Back in the -shantymen’s hut the little child was already waking, he knew, and her -glee was filling the house; but in her home others were waking, -too,—they had not slept,—and listening in vain for the music of her -laughter. He must hurry! So he kept on; but somehow, though he was -beginning to be very tired, the going was much easier. Joy comes with -the morning, and new hope; all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150">{150}</a></span> doubts and fears of the night -disappear; they are some of the foes little Peep o’ Day vanquishes so -triumphantly. Shawe couldn’t feel despondent in that beautiful world -while the still morning brightened around him, especially when every -step brought him nearer his goal. He laughed like a boy, and shouted out -“Merry Christmas!” though there was no one by to answer his greeting; -but the clear cold air bore it wide, and it helped to swell the chorus -going up all over the earth.</p> - -<p>He ran a few paces, so wonderfully light-hearted had he grown, and flung -out his arms, clapping them against his body to warm himself; then he -sobered down—outwardly. Nobody would ever have supposed that the tall, -fur<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151">{151}</a></span>clad figure with head bent a trifle, and only a bit of his face -visible between his big cap and high collar was the bearer of joyful -news. For one thing, he was walking quite stolidly, and your happy -messengers are always winged; and for another, he was looking neither to -left nor right. Wasn’t he?—Then why did he start suddenly, and throw -back his head, laughing up again at the sky? Why?—Because just in front -of him there was a house,—an ugly, squat little house, the glass in its -windows twinkling in the sun. He drew nearer, and his heart, that had -almost instantly rushed into his throat, fell back to its proper place -with a most discouraging thump. The house seemed -uninhabited,—deserted,—as if the people who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152">{152}</a></span> had lived there had grown -tired of being so far from the settlement, and had gone back to be with -their kind, perhaps to stay there always, or at least over this day of -festivity. It was impossible to associate a merry Christmas with this -sober, grown-up abode. A closer approach, however, revealed a small -thread of smoke issuing from the chimney; but otherwise, the general air -of dreariness about the place—its loneliness, its empty, staring -windows—chilled Shawe more than the winter night had done.</p> - -<p>He went quickly up to the door, over snow that had been tracked by the -passing of many feet; there were footprints everywhere,—great marks of -a man’s boot, and the smaller ones of a woman’s or<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153">{153}</a></span> a girl’s shoe. The -sight turned him a little giddy. Was this his goal—could his happy news -be spoken here? He tried to shout, but his voice seemed frozen in his -throat; he fell to trembling. He—he could not speak. He tried again, -choking out a faint sound. There was no sign from the silent house that -his call had been heard,—no stir, no movement of life. He flung himself -against the door, and battered it with his fists. The waiting seemed -like eternity to him; then his hand sought the knob, turned it, and the -door flew wide. He stared half dazed into the narrow passage-way with -the stairs climbing at one side; all the light seemed out in the world -behind him; the place was dim and chill. For a moment he paused,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154">{154}</a></span> then -his voice sounded through the silence.</p> - -<p>“Halloo! Halloo! Is a little child missing here?”</p> - -<p>There was a quick sound of running feet overhead, an opening door, and a -woman’s scream.</p> - -<p>“Uncle—Uncle, have you—”</p> - -<p>The cry went up from below:</p> - -<p>“Is a little child missing here?”</p> - -<p>Something darted down the stairs; one wouldn’t have said it was anything -human, so swift was the motion; yet swifter than the flying feet, and -very piteously human were the words that came from the mother’s heart:</p> - -<p>“Is—is—she—dead?”</p> - -<p>“No, I tell you, no; she’s alive and well. She’s at Thornby’s -logging-camp—don’t faint! Sh<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155">{155}</a></span>e’s all right; she’s safe, I tell you; -don’t—”</p> - -<p>Shawe was only just in time to catch the swaying form in his arms, and -for the moment, as he stood there, holding the unconscious woman, he was -unable to think what to do. It didn’t seem possible to him that the joy -of his message could harm her; perhaps he ought to have broken it more -gently—but how could he? It had to be told—— No—no—the joy couldn’t -harm her! A little air, a touch of snow on her temples, and she would be -herself again. He lifted his burden and turned to the open door. The -clear light from without came searchingly in upon the still face on his -breast, showing its pinched lines of distress and the ravages the tears -had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156">{156}</a></span> made in its fairness; he started at the sight, and uttered a sharp -exclamation.</p> - -<p>The keen air revived her; she stirred a trifle with a low moan; a minute -later her eyelids fluttered, and her words came disjointedly in little -sobbing breaths:</p> - -<p>“Safe, my precious, safe—thank God, oh! thank——” The cold whipped a -tinge of color into her lips; her eyes opened wide, and she stared up -into Shawe’s face. A look of bewilderment suddenly clouded their gaze.</p> - -<p>“You,” she said softly, “you—Humphrey?”</p> - -<p>She did not move from his arm; but very slowly she lifted her hand and -touched him wonderingly, her fingers lingering over his coat, and -creeping up and up to his cheek.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157">{157}</a></span></p> - -<p>“You, Humphrey—”</p> - -<p>Something like a sob broke from him.</p> - -<p>“Elisabeth!” he cried.</p> - -<p>“I don’t understand,” she said weakly. “It was so very long ago—oh! is -it really you? I—I—thought you would never come back—so long ago—and -you were angry—we were both angry; but I was the one to blame——”</p> - -<p>“No, no, no,” he interrupted, “mine was the real fault. I knew that when -it was too late, but I couldn’t let you know. Before we could make our -port the ship was wrecked—oh! it’s a sad story. Most of the crew were -lost; but the few of us who were saved lived somehow on that desolate -little island waiting—hoping—fear<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158">{158}</a></span>ing—through those interminable -months before the rescue came. Then we were carried off to the other -side of the world, and from place to place,—wanderers on the face of -the globe; but I got home at last, and—there was no home for me—you -had gone away, you and Baby. They couldn’t tell me where, but I searched -for you, my girl, I searched for you. I wouldn’t give up looking—I -meant to find you—and it was so useless—”</p> - -<p>She clung closer to him, stroking his quivering face with gentle -fingers.</p> - -<p>“I thought you never meant to come back,” she whispered, “and I wanted -to beg you to come. I wanted to tell you I was really the most to blame, -but I didn’t know<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159">{159}</a></span> where to send a letter—I had to keep still. Oh! I -waited so patiently, and every day was a year. Then when you didn’t -come, I couldn’t bear the neighbors’ pity; it—it hurt!—so I stole away -one night with Betty. We went to a big city where no one knew us, and we -were very poor. I didn’t mind much for myself, only for Baby. It was so -hard to find work, I—I almost gave up. Then I remembered Uncle Steven, -my mother’s half-brother, who used to be with us a good deal when I was -a child. I knew he was all alone out here, and I felt he would help -Betty and me in our troubles. And he was so good—he is so good! He -didn’t even wait to answer my letter; he came to find us instead, and he -brought us back to share<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160">{160}</a></span> his home with him. That was three years -ago—— But you, how is it you are here?”</p> - -<p>“It’s a long story, Bess, darling. I’ve knocked around everywhere. I -hadn’t the heart to settle to anything, you know,—hunting, trapping, -whatever offered. I’d try first one thing and then another. Something -made me come over here—I don’t know what it was—I simply had to come. -I was on my way to the Northwest, and passed through Wistar three weeks -ago, never dreaming you were so near; then I went on to the logging-camp -and stopped there for a time, but I’d made all my plans to leave -to-morrow——” his voice trembled, and he rested his face against hers. -“Oh!” he went on brokenly, “I might have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161">{161}</a></span> missed you altogether; we -might never have met again—never—if it hadn’t been for Santa Claus’ -sweetheart——”</p> - -<p>She looked up curiously, interrupting him with a quick exclamation, and -bit by bit the account of the little child’s arrival at the lumber-camp -was told.</p> - -<p>“But didn’t you know right away who she was?” the mother asked jealously -when he paused.</p> - -<p>“Dear, I didn’t. She was such a baby when I left,—scarcely two years -old, you remember. There was a likeness, though, to you that troubled -me, but I told myself I was fanciful. I’ve seen that likeness so many -times,—it has been upper-most in my mind, going with me everywhere, -eluding me every<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162">{162}</a></span>where. And, her name was different—Hammond.”</p> - -<p>“That’s uncle’s name; he would have her called so. Then you came all -that way not knowing who she was, nor for my sake?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he answered honestly, “I only thought of the sorrow in the -stricken household. I didn’t think of you at all. And yet it was for -your sake, too. Ah! Bess dear, my heart has been very tender for all -mothers since I left you to fend for the little one alone. I can never -make up for that—”</p> - -<p>“Hush!” she interposed, “you have made up. Even if I’d been somebody -else, and Betty somebody else, it would have atoned and doubly atoned -for you to do what you have done,”—she laughed unsteadily, she was so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163">{163}</a></span> -happy that her words had become hopelessly tangled. “You know what I -mean,” she finished.</p> - -<p>“I know,” he smiled back.</p> - -<p>“But you ought to have recognized Betty at once; there was no excuse.”</p> - -<p>“I thought she was a dear little tot.”</p> - -<p>“Why, Humphrey, she’s the very dearest, the sweetest, the most precious, -the—”</p> - -<p>He stopped the loving catalogue with a kiss.</p> - -<p>“You’ll let me stay and find that out for myself, won’t you?” he asked -humbly.</p> - -<p>She clung to him, trembling all over, her face quite drawn and white.</p> - -<p>“It won’t take long—oh! you must stay longer than that.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164">{164}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I’ll stay till the end, please God,” he said very solemnly.</p> - -<p>As they stood together, faintly from the distance there came the sound -of bells; the spirit of the blessed season filled the air,—the cheer, -the peace, the good-will. North, south, east, west, along the happy -roads that lead around the world, the message ran. Oh! very beautiful -are the roads of the world, but surely the most beautiful of them all is -little Forgiveness Lane that winds through tangles and briers, and over -stony and waste places, from heart to heart and climbs at last up to the -very gates of heaven.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165">{165}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI<br /><br /> -<span class="cspchd">CHRISTMAS DAY</span></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE day was several hours older when Humphrey and Elisabeth Shawe -started for Thornby’s camp. Before that time, however, poor Uncle -Steven, weary and disheartened and looking suddenly like an old, old -man, had returned from his futile search in and around Wistar, -accompanied by a number of the inhabitants of the little town who were -eager to lend what aid they could, although they realized how unavailing -their efforts must prove.</p> - -<p>They had expected to find the house wrapped in gloom, but in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166">{166}</a></span>stead, as -they stopped at its door, a young woman with a radiantly happy face ran -toward them crying out the joyful news. Then a mighty shout went up from -the sleighs,—no one knew who started it, but it grew and grew, until it -seemed to reach the sky, and when it died away—it was a long while -before that happened, because it was always breaking out again—there -was a great blowing of noses and clearing of throats, as if an epidemic -of influenza was raging among them all. As soon as quiet was restored -every one went within-doors to find Shawe, who was resting under the -strictest orders not to move, and who was allowed to remain quiet no -longer. There would be ample time on another day to get over his -fatigue; for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167">{167}</a></span> the present he had to submit to being made much of. Such a -shaking of hands as took place then,—Uncle Steven started it,—and such -hearty wishes as were poured forth! It wasn’t Merry Christmas just once, -but it was Merry, merry Christmas over and over again, until the house -rocked with the noise. And there were no reproaches in word, or thought, -about that sad past, with its mistakes and misunderstandings, it was all -blotted out,—just as the snow stretched its sparkling whiteness over -the earth, hiding many an ugly spot, so the beautiful mantle of charity -lay close over what had been.</p> - -<p>Finally, at Shawe’s insistence, the sleigh was made ready. Not Uncle -Steven’s shabby cutter, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168">{168}</a></span> the roomier one of the most important -citizen of Wistar, who had been among the first to offer his services to -find the little child. It was heaped high with robes from the other -sleighs, until its gorgeousness and comfort were something to wonder at, -and four horses were harnessed to it; then the best driver climbed up in -front with much pride and, as soon as the husband and wife had taken -their places behind him, he cracked his whip briskly, in a hurry to be -gone. Again the air was rent with cheers, and amid the tumult the horses -sprang forward. Ah! they were very different from sober old Danny and -Whitefoot; they fairly flew over the road that had seen the jolly -progress of Santa Claus and his little sweetheart the previous<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169">{169}</a></span> day, and -that solemn faring southward through the night of the messenger bearing -his good tidings. The bells rang out merrily,—the gayest, gladdest -tune,—and the spirits of the sky, the plains, the woods, laughed back -in an ecstasy of delight, echoing the happiness everywhere; as far as -eye could reach the snow twinkled and shone as if with rapture that -Christmas Day. There was hardly any speech among the travellers, but joy -sat very close to their hearts, and no one objected to the silence.</p> - -<p>At last the logging-camp was reached, and, as the horses drew up with a -great shaking of their bells, the door of the shanty flew open, and a -body of men trooped out to greet the newcomers. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170">{170}</a></span> had all heard of -Shawe’s errand from old Jerome,—all but the child, who was kept in -ignorance, because no one knew what its result would be,—and at sight -of their former comrade a shout of welcome—and something -more—something deeper—burst from them, to be echoed again and again. -Under cover of the happy sounds Shawe, too moved for any words, jumped -from the sleigh and turned to help his wife; but she scarcely touched -his hand, springing past him as if she were winged. Only too well the -men knew who the shining-eyed woman was, yet they had no greeting for -her,—the exultation in her face silenced them all; they opened a way -speedily for her to pass through, and then turned by common accord to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171">{171}</a></span> -look at the sight that would meet her. As if they could see with her -eyes! And yet the picture was an unforgettable one to them.</p> - -<p>They saw the rude familiar room, beautiful as it had never been until -the previous night, with the huge fire blazing at one side, and on the -hearth old Jerome bending down to the child, who, at the clatter -without, had risen from her play, the skirt of her gown gathered up over -a store of her new treasures as she turned wonderingly toward the door. -The men, still looking, saw the little hand relax its hold hastily, so -that the precious hoard fell to the floor unheeded—forgotten. The small -face changed from bright to brighter,—to brightest,—they had not -believed that possible,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172">{172}</a></span>—and then they saw nothing but two figures -running toward each other and meeting in a close embrace, and they heard -the cries uttered in shaking voices, “Muvver—” “Dear, my little own!” -mingle and lose themselves in breaking sobs and a low peal of rippling -laughter.</p> - -<p>“I swan thet hick’ry makes the ’tarnallest smoke,” Jerome muttered a -moment later, “it do beat all”—he stopped, choking over the words,—“it -do beat all,” he said again, blinking around with misty eyes.</p> - -<p>Some one laughed unsteadily, and some one else coughed, then a third -person sneezed—and so the charm was broken. The mother raised her head -and gazed over the little shoulder at the other occu<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173">{173}</a></span>pants of the room -with a look of deepest gratitude. How good every one was! Her thought -was plainer to them all than the most eloquent words would have been. -Indeed, words were not necessary at all. Betty, in the silence, turned, -and still resting in the encircling arm, smiled right and left on her -many friends, then her eyes came back to the face she loved so well, and -she patted it with fond fingers.</p> - -<p>“It’s the very happiest Christmas now,” she laughed, “<span class="lftspc">’</span>thout you -’twasn’t half so nice. Did dear Santa Claus bring you, too?”</p> - -<p>“You can never guess,” Elisabeth Shawe answered, the delight in her -voice vibrating like a bell. “It was some one far better and kinder than -Santa Claus, though you and I, darling, have much to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174">{174}</a></span> thank that old man -for, and we’ll bless him all our days. Listen, sweet.”</p> - -<p>For a moment the woman bent close to whisper in the rosy ear, then, as -if she realized that the men who had been so tender to her child had -earned a right to share in the new-found happiness, she told the story -aloud. She spoke very simply so the little hearer might -understand,—indeed, it was meant chiefest for her,—but the others -crowding near were not denied a glimpse of the great joy the morning had -brought into three lives.</p> - -<p>“Not daddy,” Betty screamed, as the full truth dawned upon her, “not my -very own, own daddy!”</p> - -<p>She didn’t wait for an answer but ran swiftly to Shawe, who was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175">{175}</a></span> -standing just behind, and threw herself into his arms.</p> - -<p>“Oh! you won’t be a far-away daddy ever any more, will you?” she cried.</p> - -<p>“Never any more,” he answered brokenly, then he gathered her close to -his breast and kissed her.</p> - -<p>The men looked on shy-eyed and silent in the presence of that boundless -content. Who could say anything? Who could speak? Betty’s laughter, as -her father released his hold and she slipped to the floor, acted like -magic upon them all; in a moment a deafening hubbub filled the room. -After it had subsided a little the Kid, who had served as master of -ceremonies on several occasions, assumed the leadership; though he was -the youngest of them, <i>he</i> knew<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176">{176}</a></span> how things were managed out in the -great world. Therefore he escorted Mrs. Shawe to the seat of honor with -his very best company manner,—and there never was a manner like it -anywhere, so his comrades heartily declared, and I’m quite sure they -were right!</p> - -<p>The great barrel-chair which Jerome usually occupied was drawn up to the -centre of the hearth, and as soon as her mother was seated Betty brought -all her new treasures and displayed them with great pride, while the men -nudged one another slyly as the former owners were recognized; no matter -how hard they tried to appear unconscious, a quirk of pleasure, or a -I-mustn’t-appear-as-if-I-had-ever-seen-that-before look was a sure -indication when all other signs<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177">{177}</a></span> failed. And Betty always found them -out, shouting gleefully at each discovery, while her mother smiled in -gratitude, no less pleased than the little one. Well, why shouldn’t they -be glad, too, to give all that pleasure? Somehow there was such a cosey, -comfortable feeling about it they felt good all over, and they couldn’t -keep quiet,—that was too much to expect! So the old room rang again and -again with their mirth.</p> - -<p>“Sing to us now, dear, my little own,” Elisabeth Shawe said, when the -gifts had been duly admired, “sing the old song about this blessed day.”</p> - -<p>Betty leaned against her mother’s shoulder within the happy circle of -her arm.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178">{178}</a></span></p> - -<p>“You too,” she whispered, “just like we always do?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, darling, in our own way.”</p> - -<p>The child’s glance went round the room, taking in the joyful faces that -smiled back at her in friendly fashion; then she met her father’s eyes, -and, reaching out, she took his hand in hers, drawing it close, until it -rested on that other hand above her heart. A moment later she began to -sing in her sweet little thread of a voice:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>I saw three ships come sailing in,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">On Christmas Day—on Christmas Day,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">I saw three ships come sailing in,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">On Christmas Day in the morning.’<span class="lftspc">”</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Elisabeth Shawe took up the next verse:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Oh! they sailed into Bethlehem,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">On Christmas Day—on Christmas Day,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Oh! they sailed into Bethlehem,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">On Christmas Day in the morning.’<span class="lftspc">”</span><br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179">{179}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<p>It was Betty’s turn:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>And all the bells on earth shall ring<br /></span> -<span class="i3">On Christmas Day—on Christmas Day,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And all the bells on earth shall ring<br /></span> -<span class="i3">On Christmas Day in the morning.’<span class="lftspc">”</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Again there came the fuller, richer tones of the sweet antiphony:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>And all the angels in heaven shall sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On Christmas Day—on Christmas Day,’<span class="lftspc">”</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>The voices of mother and child blended in unison, filling the room with -happy, rippling music:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>And all the angels in heaven shall sing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On Christmas Day in the morning.’<span class="lftspc">”</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>At a signal from Shawe the men joined in the next verse, waiting for the -first line to be given, and then going on with the simple iteration, -until the little carol became a mighty triumphal chorus:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180">{180}</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>And all the souls on earth shall sing<br /></span> -<span class="i3">On Christmas Day—on Christmas Day,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And all the souls on earth shall sing<br /></span> -<span class="i3">On Christmas Day in the morning.’<span class="lftspc">”</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>“Dang thet hick’ry,” old Jerome grumbled in the hush that followed, “it -do set a man splutterin’ ez never was!”</p> - -<p class="fint">THE END</p> - -<hr class="full" /> -<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SANTA CLAUS' SWEETHEART ***</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 64124-h.htm or 64124-h.zip</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/6/4/1/2/64124/</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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