and had seen
the strange bill.

"It is all right," he said to the grocer. "Give it to me. Here is a
dollar bill for it of the kind you know. If all your groceries were as
honest as this bill, Mr. Schmidt, it would be a pleasure to trade with
you. Don't be afraid to trust Uncle Sam where you see his promise to
pay."

The gentleman held the door open for Mrs. Ferguson, and heard the
shout of the delegation awaiting her on the stoop as he went down the
street.

"I wonder where that came from, now," he mused. "Coupons in Bedford
Street! I suppose somebody sent it to the woman for a Christmas gift.
Hello! Here are old Thomas and Snowflake. Now, wouldn't it surprise
her old stomach if I gave her a Christmas gift of oats? If only the
shock doesn't kill her! Thomas! Oh, Thomas!"

The old man thus hailed stopped and awaited the gentleman's coming. He
was a cartman who did odd jobs through the ward, so picking up a
living for himself and the white horse, which the boys had dubbed
Snowflake in a spirit of fun. They were a well-matched old pair,
Thomas and his horse. One was not more decrepit than the other.

There was a tradition along the docks, where Thomas found a job now
and then, and Snowflake an occasional straw to lunch on, that they
were of an age, but this was denied by Thomas.

"See here," said the gentleman, as he caught up with them; "I want
Snowflake to keep Christmas, Thomas. Take this and buy him a bag of
oats. And give it to him carefully, do you hear?--not all at once,
Thomas. He isn't used to it."

"Gee whizz!" said the old man, rubbing his eyes with his cap, as his
friend passed out of sight, "oats fer Christmas! G'lang, Snowflake;
yer in luck."

The feed-man put on his spectacles and looked Thomas over at the
strange order. Then he scanned the little dollar, first on one side,
then on the other.

"Never seed one like him," he said. "'Pears to me he is mighty short.
Wait till I send round to the hockshop. He'll know, if anybody."

The man at the pawnshop did not need a second look. "Why, of course,"
he said, and handed a dollar bill over the counter. "Old Thomas, did
you say? Well, I am blamed if the old man ain't got a stocking after
all. They're a sly pair, he and Snowflake."

Business was brisk that day at the pawnshop. The door-bell tinkled
early and late, and the stock on the shelves grew. Bundle was added to
bundle. It had been a hard winter so far. Among the callers in the
early afternoon