hey appeared below the cloud, and a
classical scholar chancing in one day to fill his pipe, had likened him
to Zeus upon the top of Olympus.

Peter valued this watch-tower above all his possessions, and here every
night he sat perched, and counted the fly-specks on the ceiling, or
fished up things from the floor by means of a hook and line which he
kept by him. To-night, however, after he had climbed into the chair, he
broke the usual silence by putting the following question to Mr.
Morgridge:

"Mr. Morgridge, is this Christmas Eve?" to which David Morgridge, after
taking a pinch of snuff cautiously replied:

"It may be;" and then added, as if to explain his uncertainty of
mind--"I don't keep the run o' Christmas."

[Illustration: "Mr. Morgridge, is this Christmas Eve?"]

"Does Santa Klaus really come down a chimney Christmas night and fill
the stocking with presents?" proceeded Peter. And then, getting no
answer, he gave an account of what he had seen in the window, and being
very much interested, he told also what he thought of it all, and the
resolution that he had finally come to, namely, to hang up his own
stocking that very night. Mr. Morgridge having listened to what Peter
had to say, took more snuff and seemed disposed to let that end the
matter, but Peter persisted in getting his opinion.

"Mr. Morgridge," said he, "do you think Santa Klaus will come and fill
my stocking?" Being pressed for an answer, Mr. Morgridge made shift to
say--

"May be, but should say not; used to believe in Santa Klaus when I was a
boy; don't now; 'taint no use."

This was rather discouraging, but Peter upon thinking it over on his
watch-tower, reflected that Mr. Morgridge used to believe in Santa
Klaus, and that the queer fellow only visited boys: besides, he thought
it might be owing to the snuff that he disbelieved in him now; for it
was by that Peter usually explained Mr. Morgridge's eccentricities.

But Peter was tired and drowsy, and clambering down from his perch, set
out for his bed, groping his way up the steep staircase that led to the
half-story above, where he had his cot. He never went up that staircase
in the dark--and a light was a luxury not to be thought of--without
imagining all manner of horrors which he might see at the top. In one
place, there were two small holes in the floor close together; the place
was over the shop, and whenever there was a light burning below, he
could see these two holes blinking