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Page 7
"You must be very quiet, John," she whispered. "But I think Santa Claus
is down in the library. We'll go down and catch him."
Brother, as became the hardier male, disdained further protection of his
small but valiant person. Clad only in his pajamas and his slippers, he
followed sister out the door and down the stair. They went hand in hand,
greatly excited by the desperate adventure.
What proportion of the millions who dwelt in the great city were
children of tender years only statisticians can say, but doubtless there
were thousands of little hearts beating with anticipation as the hearts
of those children beat, and perhaps there may have been others who were
softly creeping downstairs to catch Santa Claus unawares at that very
moment.
One man at least was keenly conscious of one little soul who, with
absolutely nothing to warrant the expectation, nothing reasonable on
which to base joyous anticipation, had gone to bed thinking of Santa
Claus and hoping that, amidst equally deserving hundreds of thousands of
obscure children, this little mite in her cold, cheerless garret might
not be overlooked by the generous dispenser of joy. With the sublime
trust of childhood she had insisted upon hanging up her ragged stocking.
Santa Claus would have to be very careful indeed lest things should drop
through and clatter upon the floor. Her heart had beaten, too, although
she descended no stair in the great house. She, too, lay wakeful,
uneasy, watching, sleeping, drowsing, hoping. We may have some doubts
about the eternal springing of hope in the human breast save in the case
of childhood--thank God it is always verdant there!
III
Now few people get so low that they do not love somebody, and I dare say
that no people get so low that somebody does not love them.
"Crackerjack," so called because of his super-excellence in his chosen
profession, was, or had been, a burglar and thief; a very ancient and
highly placed calling indeed. You doubtless remember that two thieves
comprised the sole companions and attendants of the Greatest King upon
the most famous throne in history. His sole court at the culmination of
His career. "Crackerjack" was no exception to the general rule about
loving and being beloved set forth above.
He loved the little lady whose tattered stocking swung in the breeze
from the cracked window. Also he loved the wretched woman who with
himself shared the honours of parentage to the poor but hopeful mite
who was also dreaming of Christmas and the morning. And his love
inspired him to action. Singular into what devious courses, utterly
unjustifiable, even so exalted and holy an emotion may lead fallible
man. Love--burglary! They do not belong naturally in association, yet
slip cold, need, and hunger in between and we may have explanation even
if there be no justification. Oh, Love, how many crimes are committed in
thy name!
"Crackerjack" would hardly have chosen Christmas eve for a thieving
expedition if there had been any other recourse. Unfortunately there was
none. The burglar's profession, so far as he had practised it, was
undergoing a timely eclipse. Time was when it had been lucrative, its
rewards great. Then the law, which is no respecter of professions of
that kind, had got him. "Crackerjack" had but recently returned from a
protracted sojourn at an institution arranged by the State in its
paternalism for the reception and harbouring of such as he. The pitiful
dole with which the discharged prisoner had been unloaded upon a world
which had no welcome for him had been soon spent; even the hideous
prison-made clothes had been pawned, and some rags, which were yet the
rags of a free man, which had been preserved through the long period of
separation by his wife, gave him a poor shelter from the winter's cold.
That wife had been faithful to him. She had done the best she could for
herself and baby during the five years of the absence of the bread
winner, or in his case the bread taker would be the better phrase. She
had eagerly waited the hour of his release; her joy had been soon turned
to bitterness. The fact that he had been in prison had shut every door
against him and even closed the few that had been open to her. The
three pieces of human flotsam had been driven by the wind of adversity
and tossed. They knew not where to turn when jettisoned by society.
Came Christmas Eve. They had no money and no food and no fire. Stop! The
fire of love burned in the woman's heart, the fire of hate in the man's.
Prison life usually completes the education in shame of the unfortunate
men who are thrust there. This was before the days in which humane men
interested themselves in prisons and prisoners and strove to awaken the
world to its responsibilities to, as well as the possibilities of, the
convict.
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