“Say, parson, we’ve got to give those children some Christmas.”

“That’s what,” said the cow-boy.

“I’m agreed,” added the cattle-man.

“Madam,” said the drummer, addressing the woman with the easy assurance of his class, after a brief consultation between us, “we are going to give your kids some Christmas.”

The woman beamed at him gratefully.

“Yes, children,” said the now enthused drummer, as he turned to the open-mouthed children, “Santa Claus is coming round to-night sure.  We want you to hang up your stockings.”

“We ain’t got none,” quivered the little girl, “‘ceptin’ those we’ve got on and ma says it’s too cold to take ’em off.”

“I’ve got two new pair of woollen socks,” said the cattle-man eagerly, “which I ain’t never wore, and you are welcome to ’em.”

There was a clapping of little hands in childish glee, and then the two faces fell as the elder remarked.

“But Santa Claus will know they are not our stockings and he will fill them with things for you instead.”

“Lord love you,” said the burly cattle-man, roaring with infectious laughter, “he wont bring me nothin’.  One of us will sit up anyway and tell him it’s for you.  You’ve got to hustle to bed right away because he may be here any time now.”

Then came one of those spectacles which we sometimes meet once or twice in a lifetime.  The children knelt down on the rough floor of the car beside their improvised beds.  Instinctively the hands of the men went to their heads and at the first words of “Now I lay me down to sleep,” four hats came off.  The cow-boy stood twirling his hat and looking at the little kneeling figures; the cattle-man’s vision seemed dimmed; while in the eyes of the travelling man there shone a distant look—­a look across snow-filled prairies to a warmly lighted home.

The children were soon asleep.  Then the rest of us engaged in earnest conversation.  What should we give them? was the question.

“It don’t seem to me that I’ve got anything to give ’em,” said the cow-boy mournfully, “unless the little kid might like my spurs, an’ I would give my gun to the little girl, though on general principles I don’t like to give up a gun.  You never know when you’re goin’ to need it, ’specially with strangers,” he added with a rather suspicious glance at me.  I would not have harmed him for the world.

“I’m in much the same fix,” said the cattle-man.  “I’ve got a flask of prime old whiskey here, but it don’t seem like it’s very appropriate for the occasion, though it’s at the service of any of you gents.”

“Never seen no occasion in which whiskey wasn’t appropriate,” said the cow-boy, mellowing at the sight of the flask.

“I mean ’taint fit for kids,” explained the cattle-man handing it over.

“I begun on’t rather early,” remarked the puncher, taking a long drink, “an’ I always use it when my feelin’s is onsettled, like now.”  He handed it back with a sigh.