“Me—Oh, I'm alive, but that's about all. Hey? It's Emily, ain't it? Why—why, Emily, don't you know me?”
Miss Howes put the lamp down upon the table. Then she leaned heavily upon a chair back.
“Cousin Jedediah!” she exclaimed. “It can't be—it—Auntie—”
But Thankful interrupted. She turned to Georgie.
“Is—is THIS your Santa Claus?” she faltered.
“Yes'm,” answered Georgie.
“Jedediah Cahoon!” cried Thankful. “Jedediah Cahoon!”
For Georgie's “Santa Claus” was her brother, the brother who had run away from her home so long ago to seek his fortune in the Klondike; whose letter, written in San Francisco and posted in Omaha, had reached her the month before; whom the police of several cities were looking for at her behest.
“Auntie!” cried Emily again.
Thankful shook her head. “Help me to a chair, Emily,” she begged weakly. “This—this is—my soul and body! Jedediah come alive again!”