like a drowned cat, and his beard, though ragged like his
garments, was all that might be desired. Yes, it was Santa Claus who had
come, just as they said he would, although--and Georgie's doubts were so
far justified--he had NOT come down the living-room chimney.

Santa was cold, it seemed, for his first move was to go to the stove and
stand by it, shivering and warming his hands. During this operation he
kept looking fearfully about him and, apparently, listening. Then, to
Georgie's chagrin and disappointment, he took up the lamp and tiptoed
into the dining-room again. However, he had not gone for good, for his
pack was still upon the floor where he had dropped it. And a few minutes
later he reappeared, his pockets bulging and in his free hand the
remains of half a ham, which Georgie himself had seen Aunt Thankful put
away in the pantry.

He replaced the lamp on the table and from his pockets extracted the end
of a loaf of bread, several doughnuts and a half-dozen molasses cookies.
Then he seated himself in a chair by the stove and proceeded to eat,
hungrily, voraciously, first the ham and bread and then the doughnuts
and cookies. And as he ate he looked and listened, occasionally starting
as if in alarm.

At last, when he had eaten everything but the ham bone, he rose to his
feet and turned his attention to the pack upon the floor. This was what
Georgie had been waiting for, and as Santa fumbled with the pack, his
back to the sofa, the boy parted the fringe and peered at him with eager
expectation.

The pack, according to every story Georgie had been told, should have
been bulging with presents; but if the latter were there they were under
more old clothes, even worse than those the Christmas saint was wearing.
Santa Claus hurriedly pawed over the upper layer and then took out a
little package wrapped in tissue paper. Untying the string, he exposed a
small pasteboard box and from this box he lifted some cotton and then--a
ring.

It was a magnificent ring, so Georgie thought. It had a big green stone
in the center and the rest was gold, or what looked like gold. Santa
seemed to think well of it, too, for he held it to the lamplight and
moved it back and forth, watching the shine of the green stone. Then
he put the ring down, tore a corner from the piece of tissue paper,
rummaged the stump of a pencil out of his rags, and, humping himself
over the table, seemed to be writing.

It took him a long time and was pla