“The dining-room? . . . Auntie, WHAT are you doing? Don't!”
But Thankful had seized the lamp and was already at the threshold of the dining-room. Holding the light aloft she peered into that apartment.
“If there's anybody here,” she ordered, “they'd better come out because. . . . Here! I see you under that table. I—”
She stopped, gasped, and staggered back. Emily, running to her side, was just in time to prevent the lamp falling to the floor.
“Oh, Auntie,” cried the young lady. “Auntie, what IS it?”
Thankful did not answer. Her face was white and she moved her hands helplessly. And there in the doorway of the dining-room appeared Santa Claus; and if ever Santa Claus looked scared and apprehensive he did at that moment.
Emily stared at him. Mrs. Barnes uttered a groan. Santa Claus smiled feebly.
“Hello, Thankful,” he said. “I—I cal'late you're surprised to see me, ain't you?”
Thankful's lips moved.
“Are—are you livin' or—or dead?” she gasped.