“I’ve made a mistake: I ought to have borrowed a wagon instead of a cart. This will be full presently, and I could just as easily have hauled her a two-horse load.”
Turning in at the next gate, he told his story to the farmer there, who, as soon as heard it, said:
“Why, if a man’s got any conscience at all, he can’t help giving to such a hard case.”
Saying which, he walked to his corn-crib, but with not quite so brisk a step as the first, and filled his bushel-measure, but not quite so full as the other, and, handing it to Kris, let him carry it out and empty it into the cart himself. Kris thanked him, but noticed that he did not say he was welcome.
About half a mile farther on Kris came to the third farm. As he drove in he met the farmer on the way to his barn. He stopped and listened to what his visitor had to say.
“I thought maybe,” said Kris, closing, “you’d like to give her some corn to help her out through the winter.”
“Of course I would,” replied the farmer. “I hate tramps and beggars, but she’s none of them. I knew her husband well; he gave an honest day’s work for a day’s wages. Besides, it’s a duty to give. I’d do it to ease my conscience if it wasn’t for anything else. Come over to the crib.”
Kris followed him to the door and went in. The bushel-measure was lying there, but the man looked around, as if something were still wanting, and then hurried over to the stable.
“His big scoop is missing,” thought Kris. “He’s going to do the best yet.”