t, against the heavens, he saw a green
light moving, and, accompanying it, the masts and funnels of a big
incoming steamer, moving as upon a screen at a magic-lantern show.
And there were mysterious marshes at his left, out of which came
queer gurgling cries and a choked croaking. The whistling vagrant
struck up a merry warble to offset these melancholy influences, and
it is likely that never before, since Pan himself jigged it on his
reeds, had such sounds been heard in those depressing solitudes.

A distant clatter in the rear quickly developed into the swift beat
of horses' hoofs, and Whistling Dick stepped aside into the dew-wet
grass to clear the track. Turning his head, he saw approaching a
fine team of stylish grays drawing a double surrey. A stout man
with a white moustache occupied the front seat, giving all his
attention to the rigid lines in his hands. Behind him sat a placid,
middle-aged lady and a brilliant-looking girl hardly arrived at
young ladyhood. The lap-robe had slipped partly from the knees of
the gentleman driving, and Whistling Dick saw two stout canvas bags
between his feet--bags such as, while loafing in cities, he had
seen warily transferred between express waggons and bank doors. The
remaining space in the vehicle was filled with parcels of various
sizes and shapes.

As the surrey swept even with the sidetracked tramp, the bright-eyed
girl, seized by some merry, madcap impulse, leaned out toward him
with a sweet, dazzling smile, and cried, "Mer-ry Christ-mas!" in a
shrill, plaintive treble.

Such a thing had not often happened to Whistling Dick, and he felt
handicapped in devising the correct response. But lacking time
for reflection, he let his instinct decide, and snatching off his
battered derby, he rapidly extended it at arm's length, and drew it
back with a continuous motion, and shouted a loud, but ceremonious,
"Ah, there!" after the flying surrey.

The sudden movement of the girl had caused one of the parcels to
become unwrapped, and something limp and black fell from it into the
road. The tramp picked it up, and found it to be a new black silk
stocking, long and fine and slender. It crunched crisply, and yet
with a luxurious softness, between his fingers.

"Ther bloomin' little skeezicks!" said Whistling Dick, with a broad
grin bisecting his freckled face. "W'ot d' yer think of dat, now!
Mer-ry Chris-mus! Sounded like a cuckoo clock, da'ts what she did.
Dem guys is swells, too,