Spike, with burning face, bolted for the door.
"Come back here!" bellowed Hippy Wingate. "You've forgotten something," pointing to the gold-piece that lay where Emma Dean had placed it before Spike's plate. "I never did see anyone so careless with money."
The red-headed lumberjack returned slowly, picked up the gold-piece and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.
"Never mind. Don't say it," smiled Tom. "You may go now."
"Thankee," mumbled Spike, and made a hurried exit. Reaching the door, he broke into a run, never pausing until he had plunged deep into the forest, not to return until long after the jacks had turned in for the night.
Following the new foreman's departure the gifts for Overlanders and jacks were quickly distributed, and, half an hour later, on their way to their own camp, the Overland Riders stepped out into the sparkling night, where, as Hippy Wingate had said, every tree was a Christmas tree, dressed with snapping reflected lights from the moonbeams on the snowflakes. Elfreda Briggs called attention to a dark object at the top of a great pine. It was Henry—Henry in disgrace—Henry who had stolen a turkey from the cook-house and felt the sting of his master's club across his sensitive nose.
June and July disturbed the serenity of the night with two long-drawn, throaty brays.
A snow-bird chirped in the foliage somewhere above the Overlanders.
"What is the little birdie saying, Emma girl?" teased Hippy.
"What is he saying?" answered Emma thoughtfully. "I think, Hippy, that he is wishing us all a merry, merry Christmas and a happy, successful new year."