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“My sister thinks perhaps you are a wobber, sir; but I think you are Mr. Khwis Kwingle.”

“Yes, I am Kris Kringle to-night, and you see I know your names–Alice, Hugh.” His cloak fell from him, and he stood smiling, a handsome Chris. “Do not be afraid. Be sure I love little children. Come, let us talk a bit.”

“It’s all wite, Alice,” said the boy. “I said he wasn’t a wobber.”

And they went hand in hand toward the fire, now a brilliant blaze. The man leaned heavily upon a chair back, his lips moving, a great stir of emotion shaking him as he gazed on the little ones. But he said again, quickly:

“Yes, yes, I’m Kris Kringle,” and then, with much amusement, “and what do you mean to do with your sword, my little man?”

“It was to kill the wobber, sir; but you mustn’t be afraid, because you’re not a wobber.”

“And he really won’t hurt you,” added Alice.

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Kris, smiling, “you’re a gallant little gentleman. And you have been–are you always a good boy to–your mother?”

“I has been a vewy good boy.” Then his conscience entered a protest, and he added: “for two whole days. I’ll go and ask mamma to come and tell you.”

“No, no,” said Kris. “It is only children can see me. Old folks couldn’t see me.”

“My mother is vewy young.”

“Oh! but not like a child; not like you.”

“Please, sir, do let us see the presents,” said Alice, much at her ease. For now he pushed a great chair to the fire, and seated them both in it, saying: “Ah! the poor little cold toes.” Then he carefully closed the door they had left open, and said, smiling as he sat down opposite them: “I have come far–very far–to see you.”

“Has you come far to-night?” said the little host, with rising courage.

“No, not far to-night.” Then he paused. “Is–is your mother–well?”

“Yes,” said Hugh, “she is vewy well, and we are much obliged.”

“May we soon see the presents?” said Alice. “They did say you would not come to-night because we are poor now.”

“And,” added Hugh, “my pony is sold to a man, and his tail is vewy long, and he loves sugar–the pony, I mean; and mamma says we must go away and live in the town.”

“Yes, yes,” said Kris. “I know.”

“He knows,” said Hugh.

“Oh! they know everything in fairyland,” said Alice.

“Was you evah in faywyland, sir?” asked Hugh.

“Yes.”

“Where ’bouts is it, sir, and please how is it bounded on the north? And what are the pwincipal wivers? We might look for it on the map.”

“It is in the Black Hills.”

“Oh! the Black Hills,” said Alice. “I know.”

“Yes, but you’re not sleepy? Not a bit sleepy?”

“No, no.”

“Then before the pretty things hop out of my bag let me tell you a story,” and he smiled at his desire to lengthen a delicious hour.

“I would like that.”

“And I hope it won’t be very, very long,” said Alice, on more sordid things intent.

“That’s the way with girls, Mr. Kwingle; they can’t wait.”

“Ah, well, well. Once on a time there was a bad boy, and he was very naughty, and no one loved him because he spent love like money till it was all gone. When he found he had no more love given him, he went away, and away, to a far country.”

“Like the man in the Bible,” said Hugh, promptly. “The–the–what’s his name, Alice?”

“The prodigal son,” said Kris, “you mean–“

“Yes, sir. The pwodigal son.”

“Yes, like the prodigal son.”

“Well, at last he came to the Black Hills, and there he lived with other rough men.”

“But you did say he was a boy,” said Alice, accurately critical.

“He was gwowed up, Alice. Don’t you int–inter–“

“Interrupt, you goosey,” said Alice.

“One Christmas Eve these men fell to talking of their homes, and made up their minds to have a good dinner. But Hugh–“

“Oh!” exclaimed the lad, “Hugh!”

Mr. Chris nodded and continued. “But Hugh felt very weak because he was just getting well of a fever, yet they persuaded him to come to table with the rest. One man, a German, stood up and said, ‘This is the eve of Christmas. I will say our grace what we say at home.’ One man laughed, but the others were still. Then the German said,