In an instant the poor, starved cat and the lame, hungry dog looked out and leaped into the drifting snow.
A shaft of lamp-light lay wide across the street. The door at the shoemaker's house was open. There stood a woman, and, with her, two little children, all wrapped in shawls and blankets. Their little feet were tucked in bed slippers and their eager faces peered into the night.
"It's no use, your calling," said the woman. "You were only dreaming. Any cat out in this storm is a dead cat now."
"Oh, but I know I heard a kitty."
"And I heard it, too," cried the little boy.
"Yes, and you made me get you out of bed to stand here and catch your death o' cold. I hope you are satisfied."
Scarcely had she spoken, and just as she was about to close the door, Bobby Gordon and Tabby Green came bounding past her feet into the hall.
"'Twas naught but the Christmas angels brought them here!" the woman said, when they had all seated themselves in the little parlor, which was the poor shoemaker's shop and kitchen too.
The Christmas night was turning into morning. Tabby and Bobby Gordon were sleeping by the stove, and in the bedroom, tucked deep and warm under their blankets, were the two children who had called the wanderers in.
Santa Claus was near, and thousands of lovely angels, drifting like the snowflakes, whispered to him and beckoned as they flew over the housetops.