ot afraid, and that reassured her. John Carstairs threw
the pistol down again. William Carstairs had never moved.

"Now," he said, "let me explain."

"Can you explain away this?"

"I can. Father's will was not opened until the day after you left. As
God is my judge I did not know he had written to you. I did not know he
had left anything to you. I left no stone unturned in an endeavour to
find you. I employed the best detectives in the land, but we found no
trace of you whatever. Why, John, I have only been sorry once that I
let you go that night, that I spoke those words to you, and that has
been all the time."

"And where does this come from?" said the man, flinging his arm up and
confronting the magnificent room.

"It came from the old farm. There was oil on it and I sold it for a
great price. I was happily married. I came here and have been successful
in business. Half of it all is yours."

"I won't take it."

"John," said William Carstairs, "I offered you money once and you struck
it out of my hand. You remember?"

"Yes."

"What I am offering you now is your own. You can't strike it out of my
hand. It is not mine, but yours."

"I won't have it," protested the man. "It's too late. You don't know
what I've been, a common thief. 'Crackerjack' is my name. Every
policeman and detective in New York knows me."

"But you've got a little Helen, too, haven't you?" interposed the little
girl with wisdom and tact beyond her years.

"Yes."

"And you said she was very poor and had no Christmas."

"Yes."

"For her sake, John," said William Carstairs. "Indeed you must not think
you have been punished alone. I have been punished, too. I'll help you
begin again. Here"--he stepped closer to his brother--"is my hand."

The other stared at it uncomprehendingly.

"There is nothing in it now but affection. Won't you take it?"

Slowly John Carstairs lifted his hand. His palm met that of his elder
brother. He was so hungry and so weak and so overcome that he swayed a
little. His head bowed, his body shook and the elder brother put his arm
around him and drew him close.

Into the room came William Carstairs' wife. She, too, had at last been
aroused by the conversation, and, missing her husband, she had thrown a
wrapper about her and had come down to seek him.

"We tame down to find Santy Claus," burst out young John William, at the
sight of her, "and he's been here, look muvver."

Yes, Santa Claus had indeed been