a man they call Sandy Claws, not a white man, you know, but a kind o'
Chinemin, comes down the chimbley night afore Chrismiss and gives things
to chillern,--boys like me. Puts 'em in their butes! Thet's what she
tried to play upon me. Easy now, pop, whar are you rubbin' to,--thet's
a mile from the place. She jest made that up, didn't she, jest to
aggrewate me and you? Don't rub thar. . . . Why, dad!"
In the great quiet that seemed to have fallen upon the house the sigh
of the near pines and the drip of leaves without was very distinct.
Johnny's voice, too, was lowered as he went on, "Don't you take on now,
fur I'm gettin' all right fast. Wot's the boys doin' out thar?"
The Old Man partly opened the door and peered through. His guests were
sitting there sociably enough, and there were a few silver coins and a
lean buckskin purse on the table. "Bettin' on suthin,--some little game
or 'nother. They're all right," he replied to Johnny, and recommenced
his rubbing.
"I'd like to take a hand and win some money," said Johnny, reflectively,
after a pause.
The Old Man glibly repeated what was evidently a familiar formula, that
if Johnny would wait until he struck it rich in the tunnel he'd have
lots of money, etc., etc.
"Yes," said Johnny, "but you don't. And whether you strike it or I win
it, it's about the same. It's all luck. But it's mighty cur'o's about
Chrismiss,--ain't it? Why do they call it Chrismiss?"
Perhaps from some instinctive deference to the overhearing of his
guests, or from some vague sense of incongruity, the Old Man's reply was
so low as to be inaudible beyond the room.
"Yes," said Johnny, with some slight abatement of interest, "I've heerd
o' HIM before. Thar, that'll do, dad. I don't ache near so bad as I did.
Now wrap me tight in this yer blanket. So. Now," he added in a muffled
whisper, "sit down yer by me till I go asleep." To assure himself of
obedience, he disengaged one hand from the blanket and, grasping his
father's sleeve, again composed himself to rest.
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