Samson was pleased and astonished by the look of Brimstead and his home and his family and the account of his success. The man from the sand flats had built a square, two-story house with a stairway and three rooms above it and two below. He was cleanly shaved, save for a black mustache, and neatly dressed and his face glowed with health and high spirits. A handsome brown-eyed miss of seventeen came galloping up the road on her pony and stopped near them.
"Annabel, do you remember this man?" Brimstead asked.
The girl looked at Samson.
"He is the man who helped us out of Flea Valley," said the girl.
Brimstead leaned close to the ear of Samson and said in a low tone:
"Say, everything knew how to jump there. I had a garden that could hop over the fence and back ag'in. Sometimes it was there and sometimes it was off on a vacation. I jumped as soon as I got the chance."
"We call it No Santa Claus Land," said Samson. "Do ye remember how the little girl clung to the wagon?"
"That was me," said a small miss of ten who ran out of the door into the arms of the big man and kissed him.
"Would you mind if I kissed you?" Annabel asked.
"I would be sorry if you didn't," said Samson. "Here's my boy, Harry Needles. You wouldn't dare kiss him I guess?'