So he waited and waited.  The clock struck ten and then eleven.  Georgie rose, tiptoed to his door and listened.  There were no sounds except those of the storm.  Then, still on tiptoe, the boy crept along the hall to the front stairs, down these stairs and into the living-room.  The fire in the “airtight” stove showed red behind the isinglass panes, and the room was warm and comfortable.

Georgie did not hesitate; his plan was complete to the minutest details.  By the light from the stove he found his way to the sofa which stood against the wall on the side of the room opposite the windows.  There was a heavy fringe on the sofa which hung almost to the floor.  The youngster lay flat upon the floor and crept under the fringe and beneath the sofa.  There he lay still.  Aunt Thankful and Captain Obed and Imogene had said there was a Santa Claus; the boy in South Middleboro had said there was none; Georgie meant to settle the question for himself this very night.  This was his plan:  to hide in that living-room and wait until Santa came—­if he came at all.

It was lonely and dark and stuffy under the sofa and the beat of the rain and the howling gale outside were scary sounds for a youngster no older than he.  But Georgie was plucky and determined beyond his years.  He was tempted to give up and scamper upstairs again, but he fought down the temptation.  If no Santa Claus came then he should know the Leary boy was right.  If he did come then—­well then, his only care must be not to be caught watching.

Twelve o’clock struck; Georgie’s eyes were closing.  He blinked owl-like under the fringe at the red glow behind the isinglass.  His head, pillowed upon his outstretched arms, felt heavy and drowsy.  He must keep awake, he must. So, in order to achieve this result, he began to count the ticks of the big clock in the corner.  One—­two—­three—­and so on up to twenty-two.  He lost count then; his eyes closed, opened, and closed again.  His thoughts drifted away from the clock, drifted to—­to . . .

His eyes opened again.  There was a sound in the room, a strange, new sound.  No, it was not in the room, it was in the dining-room.  He heard it again.  Someone in that dining-room was moving cautiously.  The door between the rooms was open and he could hear the sound of careful footsteps.

Georgie was frightened, very much frightened.  He was seized with a panic desire to scream and rush up-stairs.  He did not scream, but he thrust one bare foot from beneath the sofa.  Then he hastily drew it in again, for the person in the dining-room, whoever he or she might be, was coming toward the door.

A moment later there was a scratching sound and the living-room was dimly illumined by the flare of a match.  The small and trembling watcher beneath the sofa shut his eyes in fright.  When he opened them the lamp upon the center table was lighted and Santa Claus himself was standing by the table peering anxiously about.