“Santa Claus.  Oh, Emmie, please don’t be mad.  I—­I wanted to see him so—­and—­and when he came I—­I—­”

“There, there, Georgie; don’t cry, dear.  We’re not cross.  You were talking to someone you thought was Santa.  Where is he?”

“He was Santa Claus.  He said he was.  He went away when you came—­into the dinin’-room.”

“The dining-room? . . .  Auntie, what are you doing?  Don’t!”

But Thankful had seized the lamp and was already at the threshold of the dining-room.  Holding the light aloft she peered into that apartment.

“If there’s anybody here,” she ordered, “they’d better come out because. . . .  Here!  I see you under that table.  I—­”

She stopped, gasped, and staggered back.  Emily, running to her side, was just in time to prevent the lamp falling to the floor.

“Oh, Auntie,” cried the young lady.  “Auntie, what is it?”

Thankful did not answer.  Her face was white and she moved her hands helplessly.  And there in the doorway of the dining-room appeared Santa Claus; and if ever Santa Claus looked scared and apprehensive he did at that moment.

Emily stared at him.  Mrs. Barnes uttered a groan.  Santa Claus smiled feebly.

“Hello, Thankful,” he said.  “I—­I cal’late you’re surprised to see me, ain’t you?”

Thankful’s lips moved.

“Are—­are you livin’ or—­or dead?” she gasped.

“Me—­Oh, I’m alive, but that’s about all.  Hey?  It’s Emily, ain’t it?  Why—­why, Emily, don’t you know me?”

Miss Howes put the lamp down upon the table.  Then she leaned heavily upon a chair back.

“Cousin Jedediah!” she exclaimed.  “It can’t be—­it—­Auntie—­”

But Thankful interrupted.  She turned to Georgie.

“Is—­is this your Santa Claus?” she faltered.

“Yes’m,” answered Georgie.

“Jedediah Cahoon!” cried Thankful.  “Jedediah Cahoon!”

For Georgie’s “Santa Claus” was her brother, the brother who had run away from her home so long ago to seek his fortune in the Klondike; whose letter, written in San Francisco and posted in Omaha, had reached her the month before; whom the police of several cities were looking for at her behest.

“Auntie!” cried Emily again.

Thankful shook her head.  “Help me to a chair, Emily,” she begged weakly.  “This—­this is—­my soul and body!  Jedediah come alive again!”

The returned gold-hunter swallowed several times.

“Thankful,” he faltered, “I know you must feel pretty hard agin me, but—­but, you see—­”

“Hush! hush!  Don’t speak to me for a minute.  Let me get my bearin’s, for mercy sakes, if I can. . . .  Jedediah—­here!”

“Yes—­yes, I’m here.  I am, honest.  I—­”

“Sshh!  You’re here now, but—­but where have you been all this time?  For a man that is, I presume likely, loaded down with money—­I presume you must be loaded down with it; you remember you’d said you’d never come back until you was—­for that kind of a man I must say you look pretty down at the heel.”