I heard them talking."
"Who did light it?"
Georgie marked another circle. "Santa Claus," he muttered faintly.
Thankful stared, first at the boy and then at her cousin.
"Mercy on us!" she exclaimed. "The child's gone crazy. Christmas has
struck to his head!"
But Emily's fears were not concerning her small brother's sanity. "Hush,
Auntie," she whispered. "Hush! He was talking to someone. We both heard
another voice. WHO did you say it was, Georgie?"
"Santa Claus. Oh, Emmie, please don't be mad. I--I wanted to see him
so--and--and when he came I--I--"
"There, there, Georgie; don't cry, dear. We're not cross. You were
talking to someone you thought was Santa. Where is he?"
"He WAS Santa Claus. He SAID he was. He went away when you came--into
the dinin'-room."
"The dining-room? . . . Auntie, WHAT are you doing? Don't!"
But Thankful had seized the lamp and was already at the threshold of the
dining-room. Holding the light aloft she peered into that apartment.
"If there's anybody here," she ordered, "they'd better come out because.
. . . Here! I see you under that table. I--"
She stopped, gasped, and staggered back. Emily, running to her side, was
just in time to prevent the lamp falling to the floor.
"Oh, Auntie," cried the young lady. "Auntie, what IS it?"
Thankful did not answer. Her face was white and she moved her hands
helplessly. And there in the doorway of the dining-room appeared Santa
Claus; and if ever Santa Claus looked scared and apprehensive he did at
that moment.
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