“—in the cold and snow,” went on Simeon unheeding.
Her lip quivered. With a bound she had buried her face in his breast.—“Don’t take me, Cinnamon!” she wailed—“Please don’t take me—back!”
“But your grandfather and grandmother will worry—”
She lifted a reassuring, streaming face, “They don’t know about me,” she sobbed, “I am sound asleep.” She snuffed a little and fumbled in the capacious folds of John’s undershirt for a handkerchief.
Simeon produced his and she accepted it meekly. She wiped her cheeks with it and stowed it away. “I peeked—” she said, “in the door and they was asleep—both of ’em—and Gran’ther was a-snorin’—”
“Suppose they wake up,” said Simeon.
She looked at him piteously. “Santa Claus can’t come to our house,” she said. Her lip trembled.
“Why not?”
“He can’t get in.”
“Oh.”