ed
nothing else. Now he looked up. The room was still filled with children,
but they were all laughing. It was a soundless laugh, and yet he heard
it. And then the room was empty save for the child he had seen first and
vaguely. He had just time to catch a smile from his lips and then he,
too, was gone as silently and as strangely as he had appeared.

Was it a dream? No, there was the telegram in his hand! Had he sent it?
Again he called up the office on the telephone.

"Did you get a message from me just a minute ago?"

"Yes, do you want to recall it?"

The man thought a second.

"No," he said quietly--was it to himself or to his vanished
visitors?--"let it go. Merry Christmas."

III

The Friend

"INASMUCH AS YE HAVE DONE IT UNTO ONE OF THE LEAST OF THESE, MY
BRETHREN"

III

The Friend

"Is the story of the Christ Child true, Mommy?" quivered one little,
thin voice.

"Yes, they told us it was over at the mission Sunday-school," said the
littlest child.

"I don't believe it," answered the mother. "God ain't never done much
for me."

"It's Christmas eve, ain't it?" asked the boy, climbing up on the thin
knees of the threadbare woman and nestling his thin face against a
thinner breast which the rags scarcely covered decently.

"Yes, it's Christmas eve."

"And that's the day He came, ain't it?" urged the oldest girl.

"They say so."

"Don't you believe it, Mommy?"

"I used to believe it when I was a girl. I believed it before your
father died, but now--"

"Don't you believe it now?" repeated the first child.

"How can I believe it? You're old enough to understand. That's the last
scuttle of coal we got. We ate the last bit of bread for supper
to-night."

"They say," put in the little boy, "that if you hang up your stockings,
Santa Claus'll fill 'em, 'cause of the Christ Child."

"Don't you believe it, Sonny," said the mother desperately.

"I'm going to hang up mine and see," said the littlest girl.

"He's got too many other children to look after," said the woman, "to
care for the likes of us, I'm afraid, and--"

"But my Sunday-school teacher said He came to poor people special. He
was awful poor Himself. Why, He was born in a stable. That's awful poor,
ain't it?" asked the boy.

"When I was a girl," answered the mother, "I lived on a farm and we had
a stable there that was a palace to this hole we live in now. No, you'd
better not hang up your stockings, none of y