“Swing low,—swing low—
Comin’ fer ter carry me ho-o-ome.”
All the way down to the store after supper he murmured by turns “Sweet Chariot,” and “Mars’ George done trus’ me sho’ly!” People noticed his lightsome looks, and some one must have given him a sprig of holly, which he wore proudly, after all the berries had dropped off, in his buttonhole.
Arriving at the store he found Farley waiting impatiently for him, and was at once instructed in the duties of his two-hours’ watch. He was to sit in the main office, which was in the third story and looked out upon a large street. Every fifteen minutes he must take a lantern and patrol the entire building above the first floor, which was occupied by another firm, furniture dealers and manufacturers.
“Here, ’Lijah,” said Farley, hurriedly drawing a bunch of keys from his pocket and thrusting them into the other’s hands; “take these. That flat key will open the safe, and in it—look—is this box, containing the most valuable papers in the store. If anything happens be sure to look after them. Now good-bye, old fellow. Don’t go to sleep, and look out for me inside of two hours.” And he was gone.
’Lijah listened to his retreating footsteps with intense satisfaction.
“Hi! Ain’t dis a Chris’mus Eve fer ole ’Lijah!” he said, softly, taking a survey of his surroundings, and proceeding to settle himself in one of the most uncomfortable chairs in the room.
Pretty soon he looked at the clock. The hand indicated exactly half-past seven.
“Reck’n I’ll begin dis yere business on time,” he soliloquized, picking up the lantern Farley had left for him.