The Christmas tree, of course, delighted the youngsters, and above all
were they pleased when Santa Claus himself in magnificent white beard
and furs appeared and began to distribute the toys.
"It's my papa," announced Billy Sampson, aged six. "I've seen him wear
'em before."
Berkly, a sheepman, an old friend of Lane, stopped Rosita as she was
passing by him on the gallery, where he was sitting smoking.
"Well, Mrs. Lane," said he, "I suppose by this Christmas you've
gotten over being afraid of that fellow McRoy, haven't you? Madison
and I have talked about it, you know."
"Very nearly," said Rosita, smiling, "but I am still nervous
sometimes. I shall never forget that awful time when he came so near
to killing us."
"He's the most cold-hearted villain in the world," said Berkly. "The
citizens all along the border ought to turn out and hunt him down like
a wolf."
"He has committed awful crimes," said Rosita, "but--I--don't--know.
I think there is a spot of good somewhere in everybody. He was not
always bad--that I know."
Rosita turned into the hallway between the rooms. Santa Claus, in
muffling whiskers and furs, was just coming through.
"I heard what you said through the window, Mrs. Lane," he said. "I
was just going down in my pocket for a Christmas present for your
husband.
Pages:
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246