It seemed to Livingstone as though a casing of ice in which he had been enclosed had suddenly broken and he were bathed in warmth.
The millstone round his neck had suddenly dropped and he shot upward into the light.
The child was leading him into a new and vernal world. He wanted to take her in his arms and press her to his heart. The difference between the glance she now gave him and that she had shot at him at the door of his office that evening came to him and decided him. It was worth it all.
"Yes. Is there anything else you wish?" he asked, hoping that there might be, for she had not mentioned herself.
"Yes, but it's not anything Santa Claus can give," she said calmly; "I have asked God for it."
"What?" asked Livingstone.
"Something to make mamma well: to help papa pay for the house. He says it's that 'at keeps her ill, and she says if she were well he could pay for it: and I just pray to God for it every day."
Livingstone caught his breath quickly as if from a sudden pain. The long years of Clark's faithful service flashed before him. He shivered at the thought of his own meanness. He was afraid those great eyes might see into his heart. He almost shrivelled at the thought.
"Well, let's take a sleigh-ride and see if any other shops are open. Then we can return."
He spoke a few words aside to Mr. Brown. The shopkeeper's eyes opened wide.