He was pointing to the closed door of the little room, the one which Miss Timpson had intended using as a study.  Thankful had, after her last night of fruitless spook hunting, closed the door and locked it.

“What’s this door locked for?” asked Mr. Cobb, who had walked over and was trying the knob.

“Oh, nothing; it’s just another empty room, that’s all.  There’s nothin’ in it.”

“Humph!  Is that so?  What do you lock up a room with nothin’ in it for?” He turned the key and flung the door open.  “Ugh!” he grunted, in evident disappointment. “’Tis empty, ain’t it?  Well, good night.”

Emily, whose face expressed a decided opinion concerning the visitor, walked out into the hall.  Thankful remained.

“Solomon,” she said, in a whisper, “tell me.  Have you made up your mind about that mortgage?”

“Um?  No, I ain’t.  Part of what I came over here today for was to find out a little more about this property and about Holliday Kendrick’s offer for it.  I may have a talk with him afore I decide about renewin’ that mortgage.  It looks to me as if ’twould be pretty good business to dicker with him.  He’s got money, and if I can get some of it, so much the better for me.”

“Solomon, you don’t mean—­”

“I don’t know what I mean yet, I tell ye.  But I do tell you this:  I’m a business man and I know the value of money.  I worked hard for what I got; ’twa’n’t left me by nobody, like some folks’s I hear of.  Don’t ask me no more questions.  I’ll see old Kendrick tomorrow, maybe; he’s expected down.”

“He is?  Mr. Holliday Kendrick?  How do you know?”

“I know ’cause I found out, same as I usually find out things.  Chris Badger got a telegram through his office from Holliday to John Kendrick sayin’ he’d come on the noon train.”

“But why should he come?  And on Christmas day?”

“I don’t know.  Probably he ain’t so silly about Christmas as the average run of idiots.  He’s a business man, too.  There!  Good night, good night.  Leave me alone so’s I can say my prayers and turn in.  I’m pretty nigh beat out.”

“And you won’t tell me about that mortgage?”

“No.  I’ll tell you when my mind’s made up; that ain’t yet.”

Thankful turned to go.  At the threshold she spoke once more.

“I wonder what you say in those prayers of yours, Solomon,” she observed.  “I should imagine the Lord might find ’em interestin’.”

“I’m glad I said it, Emily,” she told her cousin, who was awaiting her in her bedroom.  “I presume likely it’ll do more harm than good, but it did me good while I was sayin’ it.  The mean, stingy old hypocrite!  Now let’s go downstairs and fill Georgie’s stockin’.”

But that ceremony, it appeared, must be deferred.  Georgie was still wide-awake.  He called to Emily to ask if the man who had come was Santa Claus.

“The little rascal,” chuckled Thankful.  “Well,” with a sigh, “he’ll never make a worse guess if he lives to be as old as Methuselah’s grandmarm.  Emily, you sneak down and fetch the stockin’ and the presents up here to my room.  We’ll do the fillin’ here and hang up the stockin’ in the mornin’ afore he gets up.”