nd
softness. He had meant to take it back unharmed--with nothing more than
the restless ghost of his poor desires to haunt Whiting when again he
entered it.

But now here were toys and things which Whiting, in a climax of
generosity, had culled from bake-shop and grocer, from flower-shop,
fruit-shop, and confectioner.

He snapped out the light and drove on. He had still a half-hour for his
adventure.

It took just three of the thirty minutes to slide up to the curb in
front of the tall tenement. He made three trips in and up to the top
floor. He risked much, but Fate was with him and he met no one.

Fate was with him, too, when he left the car at a corner near the club,
and slipped out of it like a shadow, and thence like a shadow back to
the shop whence his steps had tended before his adventures.

When he returned to the tall tenement the small family on the first
floor had finished supper, and the mother had gone back to work. The
baby was asleep. Milly and Pussy, wrapped up to their ears, were hugging
the waning warmth of the little stove.

"Mr. Tony, did you get the candle?" Pussy asked as he came in.

"Yes. But I've been thinking"--his manner was mysterious--"I don't want
to put it on the shelf. I want it in the window--to shine out--"

"To shine out--why?"

"Well, you know, there's St. Nicholas."

"Oh--"

"He ought to come here, Pussy. Why shouldn't he come here? Why should he
go up-town and up-town, and take all the things to children who have
more than they want?"

Milly was philosophic. "St. Nicholas is fathers and mothers--"

But Pussy was not so sure. "Do you think he'd come--if we did? Do you
really and truly think he would?"

"I think he might--"

The candle set in the window made a fine show from the street. They all
went out to look at it. Coming in, they sat around the stove together.

Pussy drew her chair very close to Ostrander. She laid her hand on his
knee. It was a little hand with short, fat fingers. In spite of lean
living, Pussy had managed to keep fat. She was adorably dimpled.

Ostrander, looking down at the fat little hand, began: "Once upon a
time--there was a doll--a Fluffy Ruffles doll, in a rosy gown--"

"Oh!" Pussy beat the small, fat hand upon his knee.

"And pink slippers--and it traveled miles to find some one to--love it.
And at last it said to St. Nicholas, 'Oh, dear St. Nick, I want to find
a little girl who hasn't any doll--'"

"Like me?" said Pussy.

"L