usly at what seemed to be the only button on his
coat, he added, "Please, sir, did you bring the air-gun?"

"Hey?"

"Did you bring the air-gun I wanted? They said you probably wouldn't,
but I do want it like everything. I won't shoot the hens, honest I
won't."

Santa Claus picked at the button.

"Say, boy," he asked, slowly. "Who am I?"

Georgie was surprised.

"Why, Santa Claus," he replied. "You are Santa Claus, ain't you?"

"Eh? San . . . Oh, yes, yes! I'm Santa Claus, that's who I be." He
seemed relieved, but still anxious. After fidgeting a moment he added,
"Well, I cal'late I'll have to be goin' now."

Georgie turned pale.

"But--but where are the presents?" he wailed. "I--I thought you wasn't
goin' to be cross with me. I'm awfully sorry I stayed up to watch for
you. I won't ever do it again. PLEASE don't go away and not leave me any
presents. Please, Mr. Santa Claus!"

Santa started. "Sshh!" he commanded in an agonized whisper. "Hush up!
Somebody'll hear. . . . Eh? What's that?"

The front stairs creaked ominously. Georgie did not answer; he made a
headlong dive for his hiding-place beneath the sofa. Santa seemed to be
even more alarmed than the youngster. He glanced wildly about the room
and, as another creak came from the stairs, darted into the dining-room.

For a minute or more nothing happened. Then the door leading to the
front hall, the door which had been standing ajar, opened cautiously and
Mrs. Barnes' head protruded beyond its edge. She looked about the room;
then she entered. Emily Howes followed. Both ladies wore wrappers now,
and Thankful's hand clutched an umbrella, the only weapon available,
which she had snatched from the hall rack as she passed it. She advanced
to the center table.

"Who's here?" she demanded firmly. "Who lit this lamp? Georgie! Georgie
Hobbs, we know you're here somewhere, for we heard you. Show yourself
this instant."

Silence--then Emily seized her cousin's arm and pointed. A small bare
foot protruded from beneath the sofa fringe. Thankful marched to the
sofa and, stooping, grasped the ankle above the foot.

"Georgie Hobbs," she ordered, "come out from under this sofa."

Georgie came, partly of his own volition, partly because of the
persuasive tug at his ankle.

"Now, then," ordered Thankful; "what are you doin' down here? Answer
me."

Georgie did not answer. He marked a circle on the floor with his toe.

"What are you doin' down here?" repeated Mrs.