his plan: to hide in that living-room and wait until Santa
came--if he came at all.

It was lonely and dark and stuffy under the sofa and the beat of the
rain and the howling gale outside were scary sounds for a youngster no
older than he. But Georgie was plucky and determined beyond his years.
He was tempted to give up and scamper upstairs again, but he fought down
the temptation. If no Santa Claus came then he should know the Leary boy
was right. If he did come then--well then, his only care must be not to
be caught watching.

Twelve o'clock struck; Georgie's eyes were closing. He blinked owl-like
under the fringe at the red glow behind the isinglass. His head,
pillowed upon his outstretched arms, felt heavy and drowsy. He must keep
awake, he MUST. So, in order to achieve this result, he began to count
the ticks of the big clock in the corner. One--two--three--and so on up
to twenty-two. He lost count then; his eyes closed, opened, and closed
again. His thoughts drifted away from the clock, drifted to--to . . .

His eyes opened again. There was a sound in the room, a strange, new
sound. No, it was not in the room, it was in the dining-room. He heard
it again. Someone in that dining-room was moving cautiously. The door
between the rooms was open and he could hear the sound of careful
footsteps.

Georgie was frightened, very much frightened. He was seized with a panic
desire to scream and rush up-stairs. He did not scream, but he thrust
one bare foot from beneath the sofa. Then he hastily drew it in again,
for the person in the dining-room, whoever he or she might be, was
coming toward the door.

A moment later there was a scratching sound and the living-room was
dimly illumined by the flare of a match. The small and trembling watcher
beneath the sofa shut his eyes in fright. When he opened them the lamp
upon the center table was lighted and Santa Claus himself was standing
by the table peering anxiously about.

It was Santa--Georgie made up his mind to that immediately. There was
the pack, the pack which the pictured Santa Claus always carried, to
prove it, although in this instance the pack was but a small and rather
dirty bundle. There were other points of difference between the real
Santa and the pictures; for instance, instead of being clothed entirely
in furs, this one's apparel seemed to be, for the most part, rags, and
soaked and dripping rags at that. But he did wear a fur cap, a mangy one
which looked