Santa Claus picked at the button.

“Say, boy,” he asked, slowly.  “Who am I?”

Georgie was surprised.

“Why, Santa Claus,” he replied.  “You are Santa Claus, ain’t you?”

“Eh?  San . . .  Oh, yes, yes!  I’m Santa Claus, that’s who I be.”  He seemed relieved, but still anxious.  After fidgeting a moment he added, “Well, I cal’late I’ll have to be goin’ now.”

Georgie turned pale.

“But—­but where are the presents?” he wailed.  “I—­I thought you wasn’t goin’ to be cross with me.  I’m awfully sorry I stayed up to watch for you.  I won’t ever do it again.  Please don’t go away and not leave me any presents.  Please, Mr. Santa Claus!”

Santa started.  “Sshh!” he commanded in an agonized whisper.  “Hush up! 
Somebody’ll hear. . . .  Eh?  What’s that?”

The front stairs creaked ominously.  Georgie did not answer; he made a headlong dive for his hiding-place beneath the sofa.  Santa seemed to be even more alarmed than the youngster.  He glanced wildly about the room and, as another creak came from the stairs, darted into the dining-room.

For a minute or more nothing happened.  Then the door leading to the front hall, the door which had been standing ajar, opened cautiously and Mrs. Barnes’ head protruded beyond its edge.  She looked about the room; then she entered.  Emily Howes followed.  Both ladies wore wrappers now, and Thankful’s hand clutched an umbrella, the only weapon available, which she had snatched from the hall rack as she passed it.  She advanced to the center table.

“Who’s here?” she demanded firmly.  “Who lit this lamp?  Georgie!  Georgie Hobbs, we know you’re here somewhere, for we heard you.  Show yourself this instant.”

Silence—­then Emily seized her cousin’s arm and pointed.  A small bare foot protruded from beneath the sofa fringe.  Thankful marched to the sofa and, stooping, grasped the ankle above the foot.

“Georgie Hobbs,” she ordered, “come out from under this sofa.”

Georgie came, partly of his own volition, partly because of the persuasive tug at his ankle.

“Now, then,” ordered Thankful; “what are you doin’ down here?  Answer me.”

Georgie did not answer.  He marked a circle on the floor with his toe.

“What are you doin’ down here?” repeated Mrs. Barnes.  “Did you light that lamp?”

“No’m,” replied Georgie.

“Of course he didn’t, Auntie,” whispered Emily.  “There was someone here with him.  I heard them talking.”

“Who did light it?”

Georgie marked another circle.  “Santa Claus,” he muttered faintly.

Thankful stared, first at the boy and then at her cousin.

“Mercy on us!” she exclaimed.  “The child’s gone crazy.  Christmas has struck to his head!”

But Emily’s fears were not concerning her small brother’s sanity.  “Hush, Auntie,” she whispered.  “Hush!  He was talking to someone.  We both heard another voice.  Who did you say it was, Georgie?”