ad to see her.

Need for a decision confronted her. Should she reserve the pleasure she
expected to derive from the interview for herself or should she share it
with little brother? There was a certain risk in arousing brother. He
was apt to awaken clamant, vociferous. Still, she resolved to try it.
For one thing, it seemed so selfish to see Santa Claus alone, and for
another the adventure would be a little less timorous taken together.

Slipping her feet into her bedroom slippers and covering her nightgown
with a little blanket wrap, she tip-toed over to brother's bed.
Fortunately, he too was sleeping lightly, and for a like reason. For a
wonder she succeeded in arousing him without any outcry on his part. He
was instantly keenly, if quietly, alive to the situation and its
fascinating possibilities.

"You must be very quiet, John," she whispered. "But I think Santa Claus
is down in the library. We'll go down and catch him."

Brother, as became the hardier male, disdained further protection of his
small but valiant person. Clad only in his pajamas and his slippers, he
followed sister out the door and down the stair. They went hand in hand,
greatly excited by the desperate adventure.

What proportion of the millions who dwelt in the great city were
children of tender years only statisticians can say, but doubtless there
were thousands of little hearts beating with anticipation as the hearts
of those children beat, and perhaps there may have been others who were
softly creeping downstairs to catch Santa Claus unawares at that very
moment.

One man at least was keenly conscious of one little soul who, with
absolutely nothing to warrant the expectation, nothing reasonable on
which to base joyous anticipation, had gone to bed thinking of Santa
Claus and hoping that, amidst equally deserving hundreds of thousands of
obscure children, this little mite in her cold, cheerless garret might
not be overlooked by the generous dispenser of joy. With the sublime
trust of childhood she had insisted upon hanging up her ragged stocking.
Santa Claus would have to be very careful indeed lest things should drop
through and clatter upon the floor. Her heart had beaten, too, although
she descended no stair in the great house. She, too, lay wakeful,
uneasy, watching, sleeping, drowsing, hoping. We may have some doubts
about the eternal springing of hope in the human breast save in the case
of childhood--thank God it is always verdant the