ould
see him now. But it seemed far away, with all his past life--farther than
the river with the ships deep down below. Out there upon the dark waters,
in the storm, were they sailing now, and all the lights of the city
swallowed up in gloom? Presently he heard through it all the train roaring
far off in the Subway and many hurrying feet on the stairs. The iron gates
clanked--and he fell asleep with the song of the sea for his lullaby.
Mother Nature had gathered her child to her bosom, and the slum had lost
in the battle for a life.

The clock had not struck two when from the biggest boy's bed in the corner
there came in a clear, strong alto the strains of "Ring, ring, happy
bells!" and from every room childish voices chimed in. The nurses hurried
to stop the chorus with the message that it was yet five hours to
daylight. They were up, trimming the tree in the dining-room; at the last
moment the crushing announcement had been made that the candy had been
forgotten, and a midnight expedition had set out for the city through the
storm to procure it. A semblance of order was restored, but cat naps ruled
after that, till, at daybreak, a gleeful shout from Ellen's bed
proclaimed that Santa Claus had been there, in very truth, and had left a
dolly in her stocking. It was the signal for such an uproar as had not
been heard on that beach since Port Arthur fell for the last time upon its
defenders three months before. From thirty-six stockings came forth a
veritable army of tops, balls, wooden animals of unknown pedigree,
oranges, music-boxes, and cunning little pocket-books, each with a shining
silver quarter in, love-tokens of one in the great city whose heart must
have been light with happy dreams in that hour. Gimpy drew forth from his
stocking a very able-bodied baseball bat and considered it with a stunned
look. Santa Claus was a fake, but the bat--there was no denying that, and
he _had_ wished for one the very last thing before he fell asleep!

Daylight struggled still with a heavy snow-squall when the signal was
given for the carol "Christmas time has come again," and the march down to
breakfast. That march! On the third step the carol was forgotten and the
band broke into one long cheer that was kept up till the door of the
dining-room was reached. At the first glimpse within, baby George's wail
rose loud and grievous: "My chair! my chair!" But it died in a shriek of
joy as he saw what it was that had taken its place.