He loved the little lady whose tattered stocking swung in the breeze from the cracked window.  Also he loved the wretched woman who with himself shared the honours of parentage to the poor but hopeful mite who was also dreaming of Christmas and the morning.  And his love inspired him to action.  Singular into what devious courses, utterly unjustifiable, even so exalted and holy an emotion may lead fallible man.  Love—­burglary!  They do not belong naturally in association, yet slip cold, need, and hunger in between and we may have explanation even if there be no justification.  Oh, Love, how many crimes are committed in thy name!

“Crackerjack” would hardly have chosen Christmas eve for a thieving expedition if there had been any other recourse.  Unfortunately there was none.  The burglar’s profession, so far as he had practised it, was undergoing a timely eclipse.  Time was when it had been lucrative, its rewards great.  Then the law, which is no respecter of professions of that kind, had got him.  “Crackerjack” had but recently returned from a protracted sojourn at an institution arranged by the State in its paternalism for the reception and harbouring of such as he.  The pitiful dole with which the discharged prisoner had been unloaded upon a world which had no welcome for him had been soon spent; even the hideous prison-made clothes had been pawned, and some rags, which were yet the rags of a free man, which had been preserved through the long period of separation by his wife, gave him a poor shelter from the winter’s cold.

That wife had been faithful to him.  She had done the best she could for herself and baby during the five years of the absence of the bread winner, or in his case the bread taker would be the better phrase.  She had eagerly waited the hour of his release; her joy had been soon turned to bitterness.  The fact that he had been in prison had shut every door against him and even closed the few that had been open to her.  The three pieces of human flotsam had been driven by the wind of adversity and tossed.  They knew not where to turn when jettisoned by society.

Came Christmas Eve.  They had no money and no food and no fire.  Stop!  The fire of love burned in the woman’s heart, the fire of hate in the man’s.  Prison life usually completes the education in shame of the unfortunate men who are thrust there.  This was before the days in which humane men interested themselves in prisons and prisoners and strove to awaken the world to its responsibilities to, as well as the possibilities of, the convict.

But “Crackerjack” was a man of unusual character.  Poverty, remorse, drink, all the things that go to wreck men by forcing them into evil courses had laid him low, and because he was a man originally of education and ability, he had shone as a criminal.  The same force of character which made him super-burglar could change him from criminal to man if by chance they could be enlisted in the endeavour.