the hills.

"Trove went home with the mare," he continued. "She recovered the
sight of one eye, and had a box-stall and the brook pasture--you
know, that one by the beech grove. He got home the day before
Christmas. Polly met him at the depot--a charming lady, sir, and a
child of three was with her,--a little girl, dark eyes and flaxen,
curly hair. You remember Beryl?--eyes like her mother's.

"I was there at the depot that day. Well, it looked as if they
were still in their honeymoon.

"'Dear little wife!' said Trove, as he kissed Polly. Then he took
the child in his arms, and I went to dinner with them. They lived
half a mile or so out of Hillsborough.

"'Hello!' said Trove, as we entered. 'Here's a merry Christmas!'

"Polly had trimmed the house. There against the wall was a
tapering fir-tree, hung with tinsel and popcorn. All around the
room were green branches of holly and hemlock.

"'I'm glad you found Phyllis,' said she.

"'Poor Phyllis!' he answered. 'They broke her down with hard work,
and then sold her. She'll be here to-morrow.'

"'You saw Darrel on the way?'

"'Yes, and he is the same miracle of happiness. I think he will
soon be free. Leblanc is there in prison--convicted of a crime in
Whitehall. As I expected, there is a red mark on the back of his
left hand. Day after to-morrow we go again to Dannemora.
Sweetheart! I hurried home to see you.' And then--well, I do like
to see it--the fondness of young people.

"Night came, dark and stormy, with snow in the west wind. They
were sitting there by the Christmas tree, all bright with
candles--Polly, Trove, and the little child. They were talking of
old times. They heard a rap at the door. Trove flung it open. He
spoke a word of surprise. There was the old Santa Claus of Cedar
Hill--upon my word, sir--the very one. He entered, shaking his
great coat, his beard full of snow. He let down his sack there by
the lighted tree. He beckoned to the little one.

"'Go and see him--it is old Santa Claus,' said Polly, her voice
trembling as she led the child.

"Then, quickly, she took the hand of her husband.

"'He is your father,' she whispered.

"A moment they stood with hearts full, looking at Santa Claus and
the child. That little one had her arms about a knee, and, dumb
with great wonder, gazed up at him. There was a timid appeal in
her sweet face.

"The man did not move; he was looking down at the child. In a
moment s