Santa Clauss Partner | Page 7

you guess right this time, you'll get a reward."
"What reward?"
"Why,--Santa Claus will bring you a whole lot of nice--"
"I don't believe that;--he will be too busy with some other folks I know, who--"
"No, he won't--I know he's going to bring you--Oh!" She suddenly took one hand from Clark's eyes and clapped it over her mouth--but next second replaced it.--"And besides, I'll give you a whole lot of kisses."
"Oh! yes, I know--the Princess with the Golden Locks, Santa Claus's Partner--the sweetest little kitten in the world, and her name is--Kitty Clark."
"Umhm--m!" And on a sudden, the arms were transferred from about the forehead to the neck and the little girl, with her sunny head canted to one side, was making good her promise of reward. Livingstone could hear the kisses.
The next second they moved out of the line of reflection in Livingstone's mirror. But he could still catch fragments of what they said. Clark spoke too low to be heard; but now and then, Livingstone could catch the little girl's words. Indeed, he could not help hearing her.
"Oh! papa!" she exclaimed in a tone of disappointment, replying to something her father had told her.
"But papa you must come--You promised!"
Again her father talked to her low and soothingly.
"But papa--I'm so disappointed--I've saved all my money just to have you go with me. And mamma--I'll go and ask him to let you come."
Her father evidently did not approve of this, and the next moment he led the child to the door, still talking to her soothingly, and Livingstone heard him kiss her and tell her to wait for him below.
Livingstone let himself out of his side-door. He did not want to meet Clark just then. He was not in a comfortable frame of mind. He had a little headache.
As he turned into the street, he passed the little girl he had seen up-stairs. She was wiping her little, smeared face with her handkerchief, and had evidently been crying. Livingstone, as he passed, caught her eye, and she gave him such a look of hate that it stung him to the quick.
"The little serpent!" thought he. "Here he was supporting her family, and she looking as if she could tear him to pieces! It showed how ungrateful this sort of people were."
CHAPTER IV
Livingstone walked up town. It would, he felt, do his head good. He needed exercise. He had been working rather too hard of late. However, he was worth--yes, all that!--Out in the snow the sum was before him in cold facsimile.
He had not gone far before he wished he had ridden. The street was thronged with people: some streaming along; others stopping in front of the big shop-windows, blocking the way and forcing such as were in a hurry to get off the sidewalk. The shop-windows were all brilliantly dressed and lighted. Every conception of fertile brains was there to arrest the attention and delight the imagination. And the interest of the throngs outside and in testified the shopkeepers' success.
Here Santa Claus, the last survivor of the old benefactors, who has outlasted whole hierarchies of outworn myths and, yet firm in the devotion of the heart of childhood, snaps his fingers alike at arid science and blighting stupidity, was driving his reindeer, his teeming sleigh filled with wonders from every region: dolls that walked and talked and sang, fit for princesses; sleds fine enough for princes; drums and trumpets and swords for young heroes; horses that looked as though they were alive and would spring next moment from their rockers; bats and balls that almost started of themselves from their places; little uniforms, and frocks; skates; tennis-racquets; baby caps and rattles; tiny engines and coaches; railway trains; animals that ran about; steamships; books; pictures--everything to delight the soul of childhood and gratify the affection of age.
There Kris Kringle, Santa Claus's other self, with snowy beard, and fur coat hoary with the frost of Arctic travel from the land of unfailing snow and unfailing toys, stood beside his tree glittering with crystal and shining with the fruits of every industry and every clime.
These were but a part of the dazzling display that was ever repeated over and over and filled the windows for squares and squares. Science and Art appeared to have combined to pay tribute to childhood. The very street seemed to have blossomed with Christmas.
But Livingstone saw nothing of it. He was filled with anger that his way should be blocked. The crowds were gay and cheery. Strangers in sheer good-will clapped each other on the shoulder and exchanged views, confidences and good wishes. The truck-drivers, usually so surly, drew out of each others' way and shouted words of cheer after their smiling fellows.
The soul of Christmas was abroad on the air.
Livingstone did not even recall what day it was. All