r. "Is Bill's door
shut?"

Mr. Carter stepped forward out of the darkness. "I beg your pardon,
madam," he said. "I met this young man in the street, and he asked me
to come here and see a playmate of his who is, I understand, an invalid.
But if I am intruding--"

"Come in," said the woman, heartily, throwing the door open. "Bill will
be glad to see you, sir."

The philanthropist stepped inside.

The room was decently furnished and clean. There was a sewing machine in
the corner, and in both the windows hung wreaths of holly. Between the
windows was a cleared space, where evidently the tree, when decorated,
was to stand.

"Are all the things here?" eagerly demanded the tree-bearer.

"They're all here, Jimmy," answered Mrs. Bailey. "The candy just came."

"Say," cried the boy, pulling off his red flannel mittens to blow on his
fingers, "won't it be great? But now Bill's got to see Santa Claus. I'll
just go in and tell him, an' then, when I holler, mister, you come on,
and pretend you're Santa Claus." And with incredible celerity the boy
opened the door at the opposite end of the room and disappeared.

"Madam," said Mr. Carter, in considerable embarrassment, "I must say one
word. I am Mr. Carter, Mr. Allan Carter. You may have heard my name?"

She shook her head. "No, sir."

"I live not far from here on the avenue. Three weeks ago I lost a little
dog that I valued very much I have had all the city searched since then,
in vain. To-day I met the boy who has just left us. He informed me that
three weeks ago he found a dog, which is at present in the possession of
your son. I wonder--is it not just possible that this dog may be mine?"

Mrs. Bailey smiled. "I guess not, Mr. Carter. The dog Jimmy found hadn't
come off the avenue--not from the look of him. You know there's hundreds
and hundreds of dogs without homes, sir. But I will say for this one, he
has a kind of a way with him."

"Hark!" said Mr. Carter.

There was a rustling and a snuffing at the door at the far end of the
room, a quick scratching of feet. Then:

"Woof! woof! woof!" sharp and clear came happy impatient little barks.
The philanthropist's eyes brightened. "Yes," he said, "that is the dog."

"I doubt if it can be, sir," said Mrs. Bailey, deprecatingly.

"Open the door, please," commanded the philanthropist, "and let us
see." Mrs. Bailey complied. There was a quick jump, a tumbling rush,
and Skiddles, the lost Skiddles, was in the philanthrop