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There was nine hundred dollars in bills in the purse. Mrs. Gratz stood still while she counted the bills, and as she counted her hands began to tremble, and her knees shook, and she sank on the door-sill of the chicken house and laughed until the tears rolled down her face. Occasionally she stopped to wipe her eyes, and the flood of laughter gradually died away into ripples of intermittent giggles that were like sobs after sorrow. Mrs. Gratz had no great sense of humour, but she could see the fun of finding nine hundred dollars. It was enough to make her laugh, so she laughed.

“Goodness, such a Santy Claus!” she exclaimed with a final sigh of pleasure. “Such a Christmas present from Santy Claus! No wonder he is so fat yet when he eats ten chickens in one night already. But I don’t kick. I like me that Santy Claus all right. I believes in him purty good after this, I bet!”

She went at once to tell Mrs. Flannery, and Mrs. Flannery was far more excited about it than Mrs. Gratz had been. She said it was the Hand of Retribution paying back the chicken thief, and the Hand of Justice repaying Mrs. Gratz for sending toys to the little Flannerys, and Pure Luck giving Mrs. Gratz what she always got, and a number of other things.

“‘Tis the luck of ye, Mrs. Gratz, ma’am,” she said, “and often I do be sayin’ it is the Dutch for luck, meanin’ no disrespect to ye, and the fatter the luckier, as I often told me old man, rest his soul, and him so thin! And Christmas mornin’ at that, ma’am, which is nothin’ at all but th’ judgment of hivin on th’ dirty chicken thief, pickin’ such a day for his thievin’, when there’s plenty other days in th’ year for him. Keep th’ money, ma’am, for ‘t is yours by good rights, and I knew there would some good come till ye th’ minute ye handed me th’ prisints for the kids. The good folks sure all gits ther reward in this world, only some don’t, an’ I’m only sorry mine is a pig instid of chickens, but not wishin’ ye hadn’t th’ money yersilf, at all, but who would come to steal a pig, and them such loud squealers? And who do you suspicion it was, Mrs. Gratz, ma’am?”

“I think mebby I got me a present from Santy Claus, yes?” said Mrs. Gratz.

“And hear th’ woman!” said Mrs. Flannery. “Do ye hear that now? Well, true for ye, ma’am, and stick to it, for there’s no tellin’ who’ll be claimin’ th’ money, and if ever Santy Claus brought a thing to a mortal soul ‘t was him brought ye that. And ‘t was only yesterday ye was sayin’ ye had no belief in him!”

“Yesterday I don’t have no beliefs in him,” said Mrs. Gratz. “To-day I have plenty of beliefs in him. I like him plenty. I don’t care if he comes every year.”

“Sure not,” said Mrs. Flannery, “and you with th’ nine hundred dollars in yer pocket. I’d be glad of the chanst. I’d believe in him, mesilf, for four hundred and fifty.”

That afternoon Mrs. Flannery, whose excitement had not abated in the least, went over to Mrs. Gratz’s to spend the afternoon talking to her about the money. She felt that it was good to be that near it, at any rate, and when one can make a whole afternoon’s conversation out of what Mrs. Casey said to Mrs. O’Reilly about Mrs. McNally, it is a shame to miss a chance to talk about nine hundred dollars. Mrs. Flannery was rocking violently and talking rapidly, and Mrs. Gratz was slowly moving her rocker and answering in monosyllables, when some one knocked at the door. Mrs. Gratz answered the knock.

Her visitor was a tall, thin man, and he had a slouch hat, which he held in his hands as he talked. He seemed nervous, and his face wore a worried look–extremely worried. He looked like a man who had lost nine hundred dollars, but he did not look like Santa Claus. He was thinner and not so jolly-looking. At first Mrs. Gratz had no idea that Santa Claus was standing before her, for he did not have a sleigh-bell about him, and he had left his red cotton coat with the white batting trimming at home. He stood in the door playing with his hat, unable to speak. He seemed to have some delicacy about beginning.