“Dis is Santy Claus’s friend, papa,” said the little boy. “We were doin’ to su’prise him. He said be very still and we minded.”
“So this is what you have come to, John,” said the elder man, but there was an unwonted gentleness in his voice.
“I swear to God I didn’t know it was your house. I just came in here because the window was open.”
The other pointed to the safe.
“But you were—”
“Of course I was. You don’t suppose I wandered in for fun, do you? I’ve got a little girl of my own, and her name’s Helen, too; our mother’s name.”
The other brother nodded.
“She’s hungry and cold and there’s no Christmas for her or her mother.”
“Oh, Santy has been here already,” cried Master John Williams, running toward the great fireplace, having just that moment discovered the bulging stockings and piles of gifts. His sister made a move in the same direction, for at the other corner hung her stocking and beneath it her pile, but the man’s hand unconsciously tightened upon her hand and she stopped.
“I’ll stay with you,” she said, after a moment of hesitation. “Tell me more about your Helen.”