will I do it?" he sighed, as he put on his hat.

"Well, you will have to get Santa Claus to help you, John," said his
wife, buttoning his greatcoat about him. "And, mercy! the duckses'
babies! don't forget them, whatever you do. The baby has been talking
about nothing else since he saw them at the store, the old duck and
the two ducklings on wheels. You know them, John?"

But the professor was gone, repeating to himself as he went down the
garden walk, "The duckses' babies, indeed!" He chuckled as he said it,
why I cannot tell. He was very particular about his grammar, was the
professor, ordinarily. Perhaps it was because it was Christmas eve.

Down town went the professor; but instead of going with the crowd that
was setting toward Santa Claus's headquarters, in the big Broadway
store, he turned off into a quieter street, leading west. It took him
to a narrow thoroughfare, with five-story tenements frowning on either
side, where the people he met were not so well dressed as those he had
left behind, and did not seem to be in such a hurry of joyful
anticipation of the holiday. Into one of the tenements he went, and,
groping his way through a pitch-dark hall, came to a door way back,
the last one to the left, at which he knocked. An expectant voice
said, "Come in," and the professor pushed open the door.

The room was very small, very stuffy, and very dark, so dark that a
smoking kerosene lamp that burned on a table next the stove hardly
lighted it at all, though it was broad day. A big, unshaven man, who
sat on the bed, rose when he saw the visitor, and stood uncomfortably
shifting his feet and avoiding the professor's eye. The latter's
glance was serious, though not unkind, as he asked the woman with the
baby if he had found no work yet.

"No," she said, anxiously coming to the rescue, "not yet; he was
waitin' for a recommend." But Johnnie had earned two dollars running
errands, and, now there was a big fall of snow, his father might get a
job of shovelling. The woman's face was worried, yet there was a
cheerful note in her voice that somehow made the place seem less
discouraging than it was. The baby she nursed was not much larger than
a middle-sized doll. Its little face looked thin and wan. It had been
very sick, she explained, but the doctor said it was mending now. That
was good, said the professor, and patted one of the bigger children on
the head.

There were six of them, of all sizes, from Johnnie, who c