Mr. Blenkinsop sat with his head upon his hand listening to the wind that whistled mournfully in the chimney. Suddenly he shouted: "Come in!"
The door opened and there on the threshold stood his Old Self.
It was not at all the kind of a Self one would have expected to see. It was, indeed, a very youthful and handsome Self—the figure of a clear-eyed, gentle-faced boy of about sixteen with curly, dark hair above his brows.
Mr. Blenkinsop covered his face and groaned. Then he held out his hands with an imploring gesture.
"I know you," he whispered. "Please come in."
"Not yet," the young man answered, and his voice was like the wind in the chimney. "But I have come to tell you that I, too, am glad."
Then he vanished.
Mr. Blenkinsop arose from his chair and rubbed his eyes.
"Christmas, ol' boy, I've been asleep," he muttered. "I guess it's time we turned in!"