their room. The snow had ceased falling, the moon was out,
and the passage flooded with a soft, phosphorescent glow that threw into
strong relief every minute object. Mr. Anderson had got half-way along
it when on his ears there suddenly fell a faint sound of yelping! His
whole frame thrilled and his mind reverted to the scenes of his
youth--to the prairies in the far-off West, where, over and over again,
he had heard these sounds, and his faithful Winchester repeater had
stood him in good service. Again the yelping--this time nearer. Yes! it
was undoubtedly a wolf; and yet there was an intonation in that yelping
not altogether wolfish--something Mr. Anderson had never heard before,
and which he was consequently at a loss to define. Again it rang
out--much nearer this time--much more trying to the nerves, and the cold
sweat of fear burst out all over him. Again--close under the wall of the
house--a moaning, snarling, drawn-out cry that ended in a whine so
piercing that Mr. Anderson's knees shook. One of the children, Violet
Evelyn he thought, stirred in her bed and muttered: "Santa Claus! Santa
Claus!" and Mr. Anderson, with a desperate effort, staggered on under
his load and opened their door. The clock in the hall beneath began to
strike twelve. Santa Claus, striving hard to appear jolly and genial,
entered the room, and a huge grey, shadowy figure entered with him. A
slipper thrown by Willie whizzed through the air, and, narrowly missing
Santa Claus, fell to the ground with a clatter. There was then a deathly
silence, and Violet and Horace, raising their heads, saw two strange
figures standing in the centre of the room staring at one another--the
one figure they at once identified by the costume. He was Santa
Claus--but not the genial, rosy-cheeked Santa Claus their father had
depicted. On the contrary, it was a Santa Claus with a very white face
and frightened eyes--a Santa Claus that shook as if the snow and ice had
given him the ague. But the other figure--what was it? Something very
tall, far taller than their father, nude and grey, something like a man
with the head of a wolf--a wolf with white pointed teeth and horrid,
light eyes. Then they understood why it was that Santa Claus trembled;
and Willie stood by the side of his bed, white and silent. It is
impossible to say how long this state of things would have lasted, or
what would eventually have happened, had not Mrs. Anderson, anxious to
see how Santa Claus wa