em with nameless terror. It was not so bad
when they had finally found their way into Marmaduke's stall and cuddled
close to the friendly beast, who nosed them inquiringly, but even there
they did not dare speak above a whisper; and so they waited breathlessly
for the mystic midnight hour when the animals should break their silence
and talk, each secretly wishing she were safely back in bed again.

Up at the house the merry evening had at length drawn to a close, and
the guests had reluctantly departed. The President, returning from the
gate where he had escorted the last guest to her sleigh, made a
harrowing discovery. There was a light in the balcony window! Could it
be that burglars had entered the house during the merrymaking and were
even now ransacking the rooms? He looked again. It was such a tiny,
steady light. Was it possible that one of the children was sick and
Gussie had not told him? The last thought sent him flying up the stairs
three steps at a time, and he reached the flag room door so breathless
that he could scarcely turn the knob. The bed was empty. Only a wee
taper from the Christmas tree burned faintly on the window sill.

In frantic haste he called the family and they searched the house from
garret to cellar, but the missing children were not to be found.

"Do you suppose the tableau scared them to death?" asked Hope.

"Maybe they tried to see if Santa Claus really came down the chimney and
got stuck there themselves," suggested Henderson, who regarded the
disappearance of the duet as something of a lark.

"Wake Jud," commanded Mrs. Campbell, and the worried Doctor hastily
lighted a lantern and went down to the barn to rouse the man of all
work, wondering as he did so what good that would do. The horses
whinnied as he entered the stable, and in the dim light that flooded
the place, the President saw that the door of Marmaduke's stall stood
open.

"What can Jud be thinking of?" he muttered somewhat testily, stepping
along to slip the bolt in its place, but the next instant his eyes fell
upon two dark bundles huddled at the horse's feet, and with a startled
exclamation he bent over to examine his find, just as Faith burst in
through the door behind him, crying, "They must have left the house,
grandpa, because the back hall door is unlocked and the storm-door is
swinging."

"Yes, Faith, and here they are," he answered, tenderly lifting the
smaller warm bundle and depositing it in the girl's arm