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Alice had her arms around Freddie and Euphemia, and her pretty head was bent first to one and then to the other. Mr. Holiday seated himself gently behind the trio, and listened for some time. He learned that “mother” was in the hospital, and “father” had to be with her, and that the children were going to “Uncle Silas” until sent for. And Uncle Silas was a very “grouchy” man, and one must mind one’s P’s and Q’s, and never be naughty, or Uncle Silas would have the law of one. But she, Alice, would take care of them.

“Going to spend Christmas with Uncle, are you?” piped Mr. Holiday suddenly; “that’s right!”

The little tots, very much interested and startled, faced about, but Alice looked like a little reproving angel.

“Oh!” she said, climbing out of the seat, “I must speak with you first,”

Mr. Holiday was actually surprised; but he went aside with the child, where the tots could not hear.

Absolutely without consciousness of doing so, Alice patted and rearranged the old gentleman’s carnation, and talked to him in a gentle, reproving tone.

“I’ve done everything I could,” she said, “to keep the idea of Christmas away from them. They didn’t know when it came until you spoke. But now they know, and I don’t know what I shall do … our uncle,” she explained, “doesn’t celebrate Christmas; he made father understand that before he agreed to take us until mother got well. So father and I agreed we’d keep putting Christmas off until mother was well and we were all together again. But now they’ll want their Christmas–and I can’t give it to them.”

“Well, well,” said Mr. Holiday cheerfully. “I have put my foot in it. And I suppose Freddie and Euphemia will carry on and raise Cain when they find there’s no Santy Claus in Painsville?”

“Don’t you fret, Alice,” said Mr. Holiday. “When I get people in trouble I get ’em out. Your Uncle Silas is a friend of mine–he has to be. I’m going to send him a telegram.” He smiled, and chucked her under the chin. “I’m not much on Christmas myself,” he said, “but an obligation’s an obligation.” He shook hands with her, nodded in a friendly way to the ex-convict, and passed out of the car on his return journey, consulting his note-book as he went.

First he revisited the old couple, and told them that next to himself they were in fact the oldest persons on the train, and that they need not worry about the snow because he had asked the conductor about it, and the conductor had said that it was all right. Then he started to revisit Miss Hampton, but was turned from his purpose by a new face in the car. The new face rose, thin and white, on a long thin neck from a clerical collar, and its owner was busy with a pad and a pencil.

“Writing a sermon?” asked Mr. Holiday.

The clergyman looked up and smiled.

“No, sir,” he said. “I’m doing a sum in addition, and making heavy work of it.”

“I’ll do it for you,” said Mr. Holiday eagerly. He was a lightning adder, and not in the least averse to showing off. The clergyman, still smiling, yielded up the pad.

“I’m trying to make it come to two thousand dollars,” he said, “and I can’t.”

“That’s because,” said Mr. Holiday, returning the pad after one swift glance up and down the columns, “it only comes to thirteen hundred and twenty-five dollars. You had the answer correct.”

“It’s for repairs to the church,” said the clergyman dismally. “The contractor calls for two thousand; and I’m just about ready to give up.”

“Well,” said Mr. Holiday, “I’m going to get my dinner now, and maybe later I can give you some idea how to raise the balance. I’ve raised a good deal of money in my time.” He chuckled.

“I know that, Mr. Holiday,” said the clergyman, “and I should be glad of any–suggestion that you might care to make.”