t! And polishin' the wood yerself. Gee!"

Mr. Sawyer cleared his throat.

"Mrs. Sawyer and I," said he, "do--not--exchange--gifts--at Christmas.
This cabinet is for my private office at the bank."

Jimsy's face fell.

"Aw," he said gently, "seems like ye'd orta give her sumthin' fur
Christmas. She's so awful good.... B'long to the union?"

"I--I beg your pardon?"

"Carpenters' union. Jack Sweeny does."

The first citizen froze.

"Carpentering with me," he explained stiffly, "is a fad--not an
occupation or a necessity. I," he added "am President of the Lindon
Bank."

Jimsy's glance was sympathetic. It regretted the world's gain of a bank
president at the expense of a better carpenter.

"I kin plane," he pleaded eagerly. "Honest Injun, I kin. I kin whittle
too, like ol' Scratch. Lemme plane this--"

"I thank you," began Mr. Sawyer coldly, with unfortunate selection of
words, "but--" His voice faltered under Jimsy's shining gaze. For,
reading in the formal repudiation a vote of thanks, Jimsy had seized a
plane and set to work.

[Illustration]

The shavings flew. The clock ticked loudly in the quiet. Outside a
winter blizzard was sweeping in white fury from the hills. Stump
crouched silently in a corner, his head upon his paws. And Abner
Sawyer, returning to his work in helpless indecision, felt his privacy
and his dignity forever compromised by a boy and a dog. He knew of
course that a small boy, scantily clad, should not be planing furiously
on the bench beside him at midnight with a sociable gleam in his
eye--yet--something--a terrible conviction perhaps that if he spoke at
all his voice would be hoarse and uncertain and his poise threatened by
the paralyzing sense of apology which welled strangely up within him in
Jimsy's presence, tied his tongue. The minutes ticked loudly on and the
shavings flew.... And Jimsy would misinterpret whatever he said in terms
of sentimentality. He always did.... The clock struck one.... Abner
Sawyer rose.

[Illustration]

"James--Jimsy," he said, and his voice was hoarse and uncertain as he
knew it would be, "you must go to bed."

Jimsy looked up sympathetically.

"Got a cold?"

"No."

"Frog in your throat?"

"No."

Jimsy resigned his plane with a sigh.

"Golly," he laughed, "we'd catch it, wouldn't we--me and you--if Aunt
Judith knew!"

Then he glanced at Stump and said nothing at all. And quite suddenly
conscience told Abner Sawyer that he could not acce