"But if it is a robber he might take you away."
"Oh! wobbers steal girls, but they nevah, nevah steal boys, and you needn't go."
"But are you sure? Oh! do listen," she added. Both heard the creaking noise of footsteps in the dry snow.
"Mr. Khwis Kwingle, Are You There? Or Is You A Wobber?"
"I will look—I must look," cried Hugh, slipping from his bed. In a moment he had raised the sash and was looking out into the night. The sounds he had heard ceased. He could see no one. "He has gone, Alice." Then he cried, "Mr. Khwis Kwingle, are you there? or is you a wobber?" As he spoke a cloaked man came from behind a great pine and stood amid the thickly-fallen flakes.
"Why, that is Hugh," he said. "Hugh!"
"He does know my name," whispered the lad to the small counsellor now at his side.
"And, of course, I am Kris Kringle. And I have a bag full of presents. But come softly down and let me in, and don't make a noise or away I go; and bring Alice."
The girl was still in doubt, but her desire for the promised gifts was strong, and in the very blood of the boy was the spirit of daring adventure. There was a moment of whispered indecision, resulting in two bits of conclusive wisdom.