He thought it very strange that Santa Claus's hand should be so red and cold and rough. [Page 91.]
With a glad cry of happiness, Little Billee ran to meet the old fellow, and put his hand gently into that of the saint. He thought it very strange that Santa Claus's hand should be so red and cold and rough, and so chapped; but he was not in any mood to be critical. He had been face to face with a very disagreeable situation. Then, when things had seemed blackest to him, everything had come right again; and he was too glad to take more than passing notice of anything strange and odd.
Santa Claus, of course, would recognize him at once, and would know just how to take him back to his mama at home—wherever that might be. Little Billee had never thought to inquire just where home was. All he knew was that it was a big gray stone house on a long street somewhere, with a tall iron railing in front of it, not far from the park.
"Howdidoo, Mr. Santa Claus?" said Little Billee, as the other's hand unconsciously tightened over his own.
"Why, howdidoo, kiddie?" replied the old fellow, glancing down at his new-found friend, with surprise gleaming from his deep-set eyes. "Where did you drop from?"
"Oh, I'm out," said Little Billee bravely. "My mama left me a little while ago while she went off about something, and I guess I got losted."
"Very likely," returned the old saint with a smile. "Little two-by-four fellows are apt to get losted when they start in on their own hook, specially days like these, with such crowds hustlin' around."
"But it's all right now," suggested Little Billee hopefully. "I'm found again, ain't I?"