“All imagination,” said I to myself.  But again and again the same sounds stirred upon the silent air.

“Could there be a robber concealed in the next room?”

The thought made me shudder.  I was afraid to move from where I sat.  What a relief when I heard my husband’s key in the door, followed by the sound of his well known tread in the passage!  My fears vanished in a moment.

As Mr. Smith stood near me, in the act of unloading his pockets, he bent close to my ear and whispered: 

“Will is under the table.  I caught a glance. of his bright eyes, just now.”

“What!”

“It’s true.  And the other little rogues are in the next room, peeping through the door, at this very moment.”

I was silent with surprise.

“They’re determined to know who Kriss Kringle is,” added my husband; then speaking aloud, he said: 

“Come, dear, I want to show you something up in the dining-room.”

I understood Mr. Smith, and arose up instantly, not so much as glancing towards the partly opened folding door.

We were hardly in the dining room before we heard the light pattering of feet, and low, smothered tittering on the stairway.  Then all was still, and we descended to the parlors again, quite as much pleased with what had occurred as the little rogues were themselves.

“I declare!  Really, I thought them all sound asleep an hour ago,” said I, on resuming my work of decorating the Christmas tree, “Who could have believed them cunning enough for this?  It’s all Will’s doings.  He’ll get through the world.”

“Aye will he,” returned Mr. Smith.  “Oh if you could have seen his face as I saw it, just peering from under the table cloth, his eyes as bright as stars, and full of merriment and delight.”

“Bless his heart!  He’s a dear little fellow!”

How could I help saying this?

“And the others!  You lost half the pleasure of the whole affair by not seeing them.”

“We shall have a frolic with the rogues to-morrow morning.  I can see the triumph on Will’s face.  I understand now what all their whisperings meant this afternoon.  They were concocting this plan.  I couldn’t have believed it of them?”

“Children are curious bodies,” said Mr. Smith.

“I thought I heard some one in the next room,” I remarked, “while you were out, and became really nervous for a while.  I heard the breathing of some one near me, also; but tried to argue myself into the belief that it was only imagination.”

Thus we conned over the little incident, while we arranged the children’s toys.

“I know who Kriss Kringle is!  I know!” was the triumphant affirmation of one and another of the children, as we gathered at the breakfast table next morning.

“Do you, indeed?” said I, trying to look grave.

“Yes; it is papa.”

“Papa, Kriss Kringle!  How can that be?”