“I think so.  I haven’t heard a sound from him.  Call me early, Auntie.”

Thankful lit her own lamp; Emily took the one already lighted and hastened down the hall.  Thankful shut the door and prepared for bed.  The din of the storm was terrific.  The old house shook as if it were trembling with fright and screaming in the agony of approaching dissolution.  It was a long time before Thankful fell asleep, but at last she did.

She was awakened by a hand upon her arm and a voice whispering in her ear.

“Auntie!” whispered Emily.  “Auntie, wake up!  Oh, do wake up!”

Thankful was broad awake in a moment.  She sat up in bed.  The room was in black darkness, and she felt rather than saw Miss Howes standing beside her.

“What is it, Emily?” she cried.  “What is the matter?”

“Hush, hush!  Don’t speak so loud.  Get up!  Get up and light the lamp.”

Thankful sprang out of bed and hunted for the matchbox.  She found it after a time and the lamp was lighted.  Emily, wearing a wrapper over her night clothes, was standing by the door, apparently listening.  Her face was white and she was trembling.

“What is it?” whispered Thankful.

“Hush!  I don’t know what it is.  Listen!”

Thankful listened.  All she heard were the noises of the storm.

“I don’t hear anything,” she said.

“No—­no, you can’t hear it from here.  Come out into the hall.”

Cautiously and on tiptoe she led the way to the hall and toward the head of the front stairs.  There she seized her cousin’s arm and whispered in her ear.

“Listen—!” she breathed.

Thankful listened.

“Why—­why,” she whispered, “there’s somebody down in the livin’-room!  Who is it?”

“I don’t know.  There are more than one, for I heard them talking.  Who can it be?”

Thankful listened again.

“Where’s Georgie?” she whispered, after a moment.

“In his room, I suppose. . . .  What?  You don’t think—­”

Thankful had tiptoed back to her own room and was returning with the lamp.  Together they entered Georgie’s bed chamber.  But bed and room were empty.  Georgie was not there.

CHAPTER XV

Georgie had gone to bed that Christmas Eve with a well-defined plan in his small head.  He knew what he intended doing and how he meant to do it.  The execution of this plan depended, first of all, upon his not falling asleep, and, as he was much too excited to be in the least sleepy, he found no great difficulty in carrying out this part of his scheme.

He had heard the conversation accompanying Mr. Cobb’s unexpected entrance and had waited anxiously to ask concerning the visitor’s identity.  When assured by his sister that Santa had not arrived ahead of time he settled down again to wait, as patiently as he could, for the “grown-ups” to retire.