he butler. He came forward to relieve me,
deftly, of my hat and overcoat. Well, I had it at last, this
establishment to which I had for so long looked forward. And yet that
evening, as I hesitated in the hall, I somehow was unable to grasp that
it was real and permanent, the very solidity of the walls and doors
paradoxically suggested transientness, the butler a flitting ghost. How
still the place was! Almost oppressively still. I recalled oddly a story
of a peasant who, yearning for the great life, had stumbled upon an empty
palace, its tables set with food in golden dishes. Before two days had
passed he had fled from it in horror back to his crowded cottage and his
drudgery in the fields. Never once had the sense of possession of the
palace been realized. Nor did I feel that I possessed this house, though
I had the deeds of it in my safe and the receipted bills in my files. It
eluded me; seemed, in my, bizarre mood of that evening, almost to mock
me. "You have built me," it seemed to say, "but I am stronger than you,
because you have not earned me." Ridiculous, when the years of my labour
and the size of my bank account were considered! Such, however, is the
verbal expression of my feeling. Was the house empty, after all? Had
something happened? With a slight panicky sensation I climbed the stairs,
with their endless shallow treads, to hurry through the silent hallway to
the schoolroom. Reassuring noises came faintly through the heavy door. I
opened it. Little Biddy was careening round and round, crying
out:--"To-morrow's Chris'mas! Santa Claus is coming tonight."

Matthew was regarding her indulgently, sympathetically, Moreton rather
scornfully. The myth had been exploded for both, but Matthew still hugged
it. That was the difference between them. Maude, seated on the floor,
perceived me first, and glanced up at me with a smile.

"It's father!" she said.

Biddy stopped in the midst of a pirouette. At the age of seven she was
still shy with me, and retreated towards Maude.

"Aren't we going to have a tree, father?" demanded Moreton, aggressively.
"Mother won't tell us--neither will Miss Allsop."

Miss Allsop was their governess.

"Why do you want a tree?" I asked.

"Oh, for Biddy," he said.

"It wouldn't be Christmas without a tree," Matthew declared, "--and Santa
Claus," he added, for his sister's benefit.

"Perhaps Santa Claus, when he sees we've got this big house, will think
we don't need anything, and g