a half-dream.

Suddenly before him in the snow stood a little figure muffled in a
shaggy cape with hood half thrown back. The childish face was uplifted
in the moonlight. With lips half parted she too was listening, and for a
moment Livingstone could hardly take in that she was real. She seemed--!

Could she be--?

"_The angel of the Lord came down,_"--chimed the mellow bells.

The chiming died out.

"Christ is born," said the child. "You heard the bells?"

"Yes," said Livingstone humbly.

"It's all done," she said; "and I prayed so hard that not one of them
stirred, and now when they wake they'll think it was real Santa Claus.
They say he always comes at twelve and I counted the clocks.--I wonder
if he went home?" She was speaking now to herself; but Livingstone
answered.

"I'm sure of it," he said.

"_The angel of the Lord came down,"_ still chimed in his ears.

Suddenly a little warm hand was slipped into his confidingly.

"I think we'd better go home now." The voice was full of deep content.

Livingstone's hand closed on hers and as he said "Yes," he was conscious
of a pang at the thought of giving her up.

He lifted her to put her in the sleigh. As he did so the little arms
were put about his neck and warm little lips kissed him. Livingstone
pressed her to his breast convulsively and climbed into the sleigh
without putting her down.

Neither spoke and when the sleigh stopped in front of Mr. Clark's door
the child was still in Livingstone's arms, her head resting on his
shoulder, the golden curls falling over his sleeve. Even when he
transferred her to her father's arms she did not wake. She only sighed
with sweet content and as Livingstone bent over and kissed her softly,
muttered a few words about "Santa Claus's partner."

A half-hour later, Livingstone, after another interview with Mr. Brown
who was awaiting him patiently, drove back again to Mr. Clark's door
with another sleighful of packages which were all duly transferred to
the small room where stood the little Christmas-tree.

The handshake Livingstone gave John Clark as he came down the steps of
the little house was the warmest he had given any man in twenty years.
It was so warm that it seemed to send the blood tingling through
Livingstone's heart and warm it anew.

CHAPTER XV

Livingstone drove home through silent streets, but they were not silent
for him. In his ears a chime was still ringing and it bore him far
across the