A Little Book for Christmas | Page 9

long since
mouldered away in the dust of a grave.
V
Before he could open the envelope, there broke on his ear a still small
voice, not that of conscience, not that of God; the voice of a child--but
does not God speak perhaps as often through the lips of childhood as in
any other way--and conscience, too?
"Are you Santa Claus?" the voice whispered in his ear.
"Crackerjack" dropped the paper and turned like a flash, knife upraised
in his clenched hand, to confront a very little girl and a still smaller boy
staring at him in open-eyed astonishment, an astonishment which was

without any vestige of alarm. He looked down at the two and they
looked up at him, equal bewilderment on both sides.
"I sought dat Santy Claus tame down de chimney," said the younger of
the twain, whose pajamas bespoke the nascent man.
"In all the books he has a long white beard. Where's yours?" asked the
coming woman.
This innocent question no less than the unaffected simplicity and
sincerity of the questioner overpowered "Crackerjack." He sank back
into a convenient chair and stared at the imperturbable pair. There was
a strange and wonderful likeness in the sweet-faced golden-haired little
girl before him to the worn, haggard, and ill-clad little girl who lay
shivering in the mean bed in the upper room where God was not--or so
he fancied.
"You're a little girl, aren't you?" he whispered.
No voice had been or was raised above a whisper. It was a witching
hour and its spell was upon them all.
"Yes."
"What is your name?"
"Helen."
Now Helen had been "Crackerjack's" mother's name and it was the
name of his own little girl, and although everybody else called her Nell,
to him she was always Helen.
"And my name's John," volunteered the other child.
"John!" That was extraordinary!
"What's your other name?"
"John William."

The man stared again. Could this be coincidence merely? John was his
own name and William that of his brother.
"I mean what is your last name?"
"Carstairs," answered the little girl. "Now you tell us who you are. You
aren't Santa Claus, are you? I don't hear any reindeers outside, or bells,
and you haven't any pack, and you're not by the fireplace where our
stockings are."
[Illustration: "I sought dat Santy Claus tame down de chimney," said
the younger of the twain.]
"No," said the man, "I'm not exactly Santa Claus, I'm his friend--I--"
What should he say to these children? In his bewilderment for the
moment he actually forgot the letter which he still held tightly in his
hand.
"Dat's muvver's safe," continued the little boy. "She keeps lots o' things
in it. It's all hers but dat drawer. Dat's papa's and--"
"I think I hear some one on the stairs," broke in the little girl suddenly
in great excitement. "Maybe that's Santa Claus."
"Perhaps it is," said the man, who had also heard. "You wait and watch
for him. I'll go outside and attend to his reindeer."
He made a movement to withdraw, but the girl caught him tightly by
the hand.
"If you are his friend," she said, "you can introduce us. You know our
names and--"
The golden opportunity was gone.
"Don't say a word," whispered the man quickly. "We'll surprise him. Be
very still."

He reached his hand up and turned out the light. He half hoped he
might be mistaken, or that in the darkness they would not be seen, but
no. They all heard the footsteps on the stair. They came down slowly,
and it was evident that whoever was approaching was using every
precaution not to be heard. "Crackerjack" was in a frightful situation.
He did not know whether to jerk himself away from the two children,
for the boy had clasped him around the leg and the girl still held his
hand, or whether to wait.
The power of decision suddenly left him, for the steps stopped before
the door. There was a little click as a hand pressed a button on the wall
and the whole room was flooded with light from the great electrolier in
the centre. Well, the game was up. "Crackerjack" had been crouching
low with the children. He rose to his feet and looked straightly enough
into the barrel of a pistol held by a tall, severe looking man in a rich
silk dressing robe, who confronted him in the doorway. Two words
broke from the lips of the two men, the same words that had fallen
from their lips when they met ten years before.
"John!" cried the elder man, laying the weapon on a nearby table.
"Will!" answered "Crackerjack" in the same breath.
As if to mark the eternal difference as before, the one was clothed in
habiliments