at the pancake and then at the
resourceful Mr. Hicks. She was so completely won that she consented to
sit on his knee. There she resumed her _tamale_ in the intervals of
conversation.

"Mr. Hicks. How did the bees come to go down your chimbly?"

"'Cause," replied Mr. Hicks.

"Oh, _Mister_ Hicks--tell me _why_ the bees went down your chimbly. I
want to know why."

"I guess they thought it was an old hollow tree."

"Do you think maybe they would think our chimbly was an old hollow
tree? Oh, I wish they would come down our chimbly."

"Oh, they would n't come down your chimney. That would n't do at all."

"Why would n't they, Mr. Hicks?"

"'Cause," answered Jonas, still pretending to be taciturn and
mysterious.

"Oh, Mister _Hicks_. _Please_ don't talk that way. Tell me why."

"Because," explained Mr. Hicks, "bees would know better than that. If
they came and stopped your chimney all up with honey, how would Santa
Claus ever get down? Who gave you the dolly?"

"Santa Claus."

"Well, don't you see if the chimney was all full of honey he would get
it all over his clothes? And all over _her_ clothes? And besides, he
would get his whiskers all chock-full of honey. How would you like to
have your curls all full of molasses?"

As he made this remark he lifted a curl and contemplated it, the truth
being that he was not nearly so much interested in the honey as in her
hair. He made these remarks simply by way of sticking to the subject.
Susan, conscious of her curls, gave her head a toss which sent them
flying about her face, one side and then the other; then she took
another bite and returned to her speculations.

"Did the bees know that you haven't got any little girl?"

Mr. Hicks was inclined to sanction the idea that the bees had this view
of the uselessness of his chimney. The subject of his girllessness
leading on to another case of "why," he fell back promptly upon the
hollow tree theory pure and simple; the which he took pains to
establish by stories of trees filled with honey and of terrible big
bears that lived in the trees and ate the honey. He was going on to
consider the advantages of living in a hollow tree--with a good strong
door to it--when a new game offered itself.

Leaning forward and turning his head to see how the stove was doing,
the end of his long moustache stroked Susan under the chin and drew a
fine trail of titillation across her throat. To the surprise of the
owner