The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 1 — page 97: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“It’s Santy, it’s Santy!” and a boy peered joyously out into the night. “No ’tain’t,” an older girl appeared quickly at the boy’s side, “he always comes down the chimbly.” Joyce stood spellbound on the top step of Widow Mullens’s cottage. Was this a real flesh and blood boy, she wondered, or was it some Christmas sprite in a dis- guised palace? The boy’s hair was black, soft and wavy. His eyes, big, wide open, and Irish-blue, were shaded by black lashes. His features were small and regular. He moved back to let her enter. The prince disappeared, and in his place stood a sad, misshapen little cripple. A cry of pity escaped Joyce. “ Did you get hurt?” asked the boy. “Yes, here,’ and she pressed her hand against her heart. Then turning to the girl she explained: “We can’t go on on account of the snow and would like to spend the night here. Will you ask your mother if she will take us in?” ‘““Ma’s at Greens’ ’cause the baby’s sick. She said if the baby or the weather got worse she wouldn’t be-home till late. But you can stay, cause we had the agent all last summer, and ma was sorry when he left.” Joyce .stepped back to the soe and called to her father: “Tt’s all right, so pleasé have the suit- cases and things brought in.” The driver was dismissed with instruc- tions to call for them in time for an early train the next morning. “What is your name?” Joyce asked. The boy was looking at her father with great wide-open, could not bear—she must prevent her father from hurting the little fellow by speaking in his usual gruff manner. “Larry, and mine’s Mary,” replied the girl. Larry said nothing. He was shuffling with his poor little crooked legs across the floor. Nearer, and nearer, and near- er he came to her father? A CHRISTMAS MENACE. inquiring eyes. he 87 Joyce held her breath. He was such a little fellow, and a cripple. “Mary says you ain’t cause you didn’t come down the chimbly. But I know you, Mr. Santa Claus.” Joyce still held her breath. Her father said nothing. “You see, you can’t fool me,” Larry shook his black curly head, “ for I see your reindeer coat—even if it is on wrong side out.” He reached up and took Dr. Jackman’s hand in a confiding clasp. Joyce began to breathe in quick gasps. Still her father said nothing. “You'll stay a while, won’t you?” The boy led the doctor to a chair, and when he had sat down he leaned trustingly against his knee. ‘‘ Ma said you wouldn’t come this year cause pa’s gone way off to fight. Id go, too, if—if—if I was like Other boys.” The doctor made a sudden move. Joyce Stepped quickly forward. But instead of the expected impatient gesture the big man with the strong arms leaned over and gathered the child to him as gently as a mother might. The little lad nestled down as tonfi- dently as if the gentle smile on the stern man’s face was quite natural there. TTT. THE evening that followed was one of wonder and amazement to Joyce. It seemed as if more joy was crowded into it than into all her life before. Of course there was no tree, but no one seemed to mind. Dr. Jackman called for stockings, and insisted on Larry’s bringing two because they were so small. “ But, father, how are we going to fill them?” asked Joyce in a whisper. ‘With the junk you’ve collected for Cynthia and Allen. You didn’t pack it in your trunk, did you?” demanded the doctor anxiously. “Oh, no. That is, most of it’s here in my suit-case for I was afraid the trunks might not arrive in time.” Gomichbooks troubled™ (E@)