’Wall ye know how that editor talks?  ’Twant a day ’fore the head man o’ the biler business come ’n bought ’em.  An’ the advertisement was never put in.  Guess he wan’t hankerin’ if hev his business spilt.

Uncle Eb was not at the supper table that evening.

‘Where’s Holden?’ said Elizabeth Brower.

‘Dunno,’ said David.  ‘Goin’ after Santa Claus he tol’ me.

‘Never see the beat o’ that man!’ was the remark of Elizabeth, as she poured the tea.  ‘Jes’ like a boy ev’ry Crissmus time.  Been so excited fer a week couldn’t hardly contain himself.’

’Ketched him out ‘n the barn if other day laffin’ like a fool,’ said David.  ‘Thought he was crazy.’

We sat by the fire after the supper dishes were put away, talking of all the Christmas Days we could remember.  Hope and I thought our last in Faraway best of all and no wonder, for we had got then the first promise of the great gift that now made us happy.  Elizabeth, sitting in her easy-chair, told of Christmas in the olden time when her father had gone to the war with the British.

David sat near me, his face in the firelight — the broad brow wrinkled into furrows and framed in locks of iron-grey.  He was looking thoughtfully at the fire.  Uncle Eb came soon, stamping and shaking the snow out of his great fur coat.

‘Col’night,’ he said, warming his hands.

Then he carried his coat and cap away, returning shortly, with a little box in his hand.

‘Jes’ thought I’d buy this fer fun,’ said he, holding it down to the firelight.  ‘Dummed if I ever see the like uv it.  Whoa!’ he shouted, as the cover flew open, releasing a jumping-jack.  ’Quicker n a grasshopper!  D’ye ever see sech a sassy little critter?

Then he handed it to Elizabeth.

‘Wish ye Merry Christmas, Dave Brower!’ said he.

‘Ain’t as merry as I might be,’ said David.

‘Know what’s the matter with ye,’ said Uncle Eb.  ‘Searchin’ after trouble — thet’s what ye’re doin’.  Findin’ lots uv it right there ’n the fire.  Trouble ‘s goiti’ t’ git mighty scurce ’round here this very selfsame night.  Ain’t goin’ t’ be nobody lookin’ fer it — thet’s why.  Fer years ye ve been takin’ care o’ somebody et I’ll take care ’o you, long’s ye live — sartin sure.  Folks they said ye was fools when ye took ’em in.  Man said I was a fool once.  Alwuss hed a purty fair idee o’myself sence then.  When some folks call ye a fool ’s a ruther good sign ye ain’t.  Ye’ve waited a long time fer yer pay — ain’t much longer if wait now.’

There was a little quaver in his voice, We all looked at him in silence.  Uncle Eb drew out his wallet with trembling hands, his fine old face lit with a deep emotion.  David looked up at him as he wondered what joke was coming, until he saw his excitement.

‘Here’s twenty thousan’ dollars,’ said Uncle Eb, ’a reel, genuwine bank check!  Jist as good as gold.  Here ’tis!  A Crissmus present fer you ‘n Elizabeth.  An’ may God bless ye both!’