CHAPTER XI

SANTA CLAUS VISITS THE JUDGE

The moment that dinner was over the judge was hustled into the library by Nora and Miriam, and informed by them that they constituted a committee of two to amuse him until eleven o’clock.  He was their prisoner and they dared him to try to escape.

Next to Grace, Nora, with her rosy cheeks and ready Irish wit was perhaps the judge’s favorite, while he had a profound admiration for stately Miriam; so he was well satisfied with his captors, who triumphantly conducted him to the drawing room, where Miriam played and Nora sang Irish ballads with a delicious brogue that completely captivated the old gentleman.

At eleven o’clock there was a great jingling of bells and into the room dashed Santa Claus, looking as fat and jolly as a story-book Kris Kringle.

“Merry Christmas,” he cried in a high squeaky voice.  “It’s a little early to wish you Merry Christmas, judge, but I’ve an engagement in China at midnight so I thought I’d drop in here a trifle early, leave a few toys for you and your little playmates and be gone.  I always make it a point to remember good little boys.  So hurry up, everybody, and follow me, for I haven’t long to stay.”

With these words Kris Kringle dashed through the hall followed by the judge who, entering fully into the spirit of the affair, seized Nora and Miriam by the hand and the three raced after their strange visitor at full speed, catching up with him at the door of the dining room which was closed.  Here Santa Claus paused and gave three knocks on the oak door.

“Who is there?” demanded a voice, that sounded like David Nesbit’s.

“Kris Kringle and three good children.”

“Enter into the realm of Christmas,” answered the voice, and the door was flung open.

The sight that greeted them was sufficiently brilliant to dazzle their eyes for a moment.  In one corner of the dining room stood the great tree, radiant with gilt and silver ornaments.  At the top was a huge silver star, while the branches were wound with glittering tinsel, and heavily laden with beribboned bundles of all shapes and sizes, while the space around the base of the tree was completely filled with presents.

At one side of the tree stood a graceful figure clad in a white robe that glittered and sparkled as though covered with diamonds.  She wore a gilt crown on her head and carried a scepter, while over her shoulder trailed a long garland of holly fastened with scarlet ribbons.  It was Grace Harlowe in a robe made of cotton wadding thickly sprinkled with diamond dust, gotten up to represent the spirit of Christmas.

On the other side of the tree lay old Father Time, apparently fast asleep, his sickle by his side.  His long white cotton beard flowed realistically down to his waist, and in his folded hands was a placard bearing these words, “Gone to sleep for the next hundred years,” while in the opposite corner his sister and the rest of the guests had grouped themselves, and as the old gentleman stepped over the threshold, a chorus of laughing voices rang out: