LITMIR.BIZ

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his deep-set eyes. "Where did you drop from?"

      "Oh, I'm out," said Little Billee bravely. "My mama left me a little while ago while she went off about something, and I guess I got losted."

      "Very likely," returned the old saint with a smile. "Little two-by-four fellows are apt to get losted when they start in on their own hook, specially days like these, with such crowds hustlin' around."

      "But it's all right now," suggested Little Billee hopefully. "I'm found again, ain't I?"

      "Oh, yes, indeedy, you're found all right, kiddie," Santa Claus agreed.

      "And pretty soon you'll take me home again, won't you?" said the child.

      "Surest thing you know!" answered Santa Claus, looking down upon the bright but tired little face with a comforting smile. "What might your address be?"

      "My what?" asked Little Billee.

      "Your address," repeated Santa Claus. "Where do you live?"

      The answer was a ringing peal of childish laughter.

      "As if you didn't know that!" cried Little Billee, giggling.

      "Ha, ha!" laughed Santa Claus. "Can't fool you, can I? It would be funny if, after keeping an eye on you all these years since you was a babby, I didn't know where you lived, eh?"

      "Awful funny," agreed Little Billee. "But tell me, Mr. Santa Claus, what sort of a boy do you think I have been?" he added with a shade of anxiety in his voice.

      "Pretty good—pretty good," Santa Claus answered, turning in his steps and walking back again along the path he had just traveled—which Little Billee thought was rather a strange thing to do. "You've got more white marks than black ones—a good many more—a hundred and fifty times as many, kiddie. Fact is, you're all right—'way up among the good boys; though once or twice last summer, you know—"

      "Yes, I know," said Little Billee meekly, "but I didn't mean to be naughty."

      "That's just what I said to the bookkeeper," said Santa Claus, "and so we gave you a gray mark—half white and half black—that doesn't count either way, for or against you."

      "Thank you, sir," said Little Billee, much comforted.

      "Don't mention it; you are very welcome, kiddie," said Santa Claus, giving the youngster's hand a gentle squeeze.

      "Why do you call me 'kiddie' when you know my name is Little Billee?" asked the boy.

      "Oh, that's what I call all good boys," explained Santa Claus. "You see, we divide them up into two kinds—the good boys and the naughty boys—and the good boys we call kiddies, and the naughty boys we call caddies, and there you are."

      Just then Little Billee noticed for the first time the square boards that Santa Claus was wearing.

      "What are you wearing those boards for, Mr. Santa Claus?" he asked.

      If the lad had looked closely enough, he would have seen a very unhappy look come into the old man's face; but there was nothing of it in his answer.

      "Oh, those are my new-fangled back-and-chest protectors, my lad," he replied. "Sometimes we have bitter winds blowing at Christmas, and I have to be ready for them. It wouldn't do for Santa Claus to come down with the sneezes at Christmas-time, you know—no, sirree! This board in front keeps the wind off my chest, and the one behind keeps me from getting rheumatism in my back. They are a great protection against the weather."

      "I'll have to tell my papa about them," said Little Billee, much impressed by the simplicity of this arrangement. "We have a glass board on the front of our ortymobile to keep the wind off Henry—he's our shuffer—but papa wears a fur coat, and sometimes he says the wind goes right through that. He'll be glad to know about these boards."

      "I shouldn't wonder," smiled Santa Claus. "They aren't very becoming, but they are mighty useful. You might save up your pennies and give your papa a pair like 'em for his next Christmas."

      Santa Claus laughed as he spoke; but there was a catch in his voice which Little Billee was too young to notice.

      "You've got letters printed there," said the boy, peering around in front of his companion at the lettering on the board. "What do they spell? You know I haven't learned to read yet."

      "And why should you know how to read at your age?" said Santa Claus. "You're not more than—"

      "Five last month," said Little Billee proudly. It was such a great age!

      "My, as old as that?" cried Santa Claus. "Well, you are growing fast! Why, it don't seem more than yesterday that you was a pink-cheeked babby, and here you are big enough to be out alone! That's more than my little boy is able to do."

      Santa Claus shivered slightly, and Little Billee was surprised to see a tear glistening in his eye.

      "Why, have you got a little boy?" he asked.

      "Yes, Little Billee," said the saint. "A poor white-faced little chap, about a year older than you, who—well, never mind, kiddie—he's a kiddie, too—let's talk about something else, or I'll have icicles in my eyes."

      "You didn't tell me what those letters on the boards spell," said Little Billee.

      "'Merry Christmas to Everybody!'" said Santa Claus. "I have the words printed there so that everybody can see them; and if I miss wishing anybody a merry Christmas, he'll know I meant it just the same."

      "You're awful kind, aren't you?" said Little Billee, squeezing his friend's hand affectionately. "It must make you very happy to be able to be so kind to everybody!"

       II

      Santa Claus made no reply to this remark, beyond giving a very deep sigh, which Little Billee chose to believe was evidence of a great inward content. They walked on now in silence, for Little Billee was beginning to feel almost too tired to talk, and Santa Claus seemed to be thinking of something else. Finally, however, the little fellow spoke.

      "I guess I'd like to go home now, Mr. Santa Claus," he said. "I'm tired, and I'm afraid my mama will be wondering where I've gone to."

      "That's so, my little man," said Santa Claus, stopping short in his walk up and down the block. "Your mother will be worried, for a fact; and your father, too—I know how I'd feel if my little boy got losted and hadn't come home at dinner-time. I don't believe you know where you live, though—now, honest! Come! 'Fess up, Billee, you don't know where you live, do you?"

      "Why, yes, I do," said Little Billee. "It's in the big gray stone house with the iron fence in front of it, near the park."

      "Oh, that's easy enough!" laughed Santa Claus nervously. "Anybody could say he lived in a gray stone house with a fence around it, near the park; but you don't know what street it's on, nor the number, either. I'll bet fourteen wooden giraffes against a monkey-on-a-stick!"

      "No, I don't," said Little Billee frankly; "but I know the number of our ortymobile. It's 'N. Y.'"

      "Fine!" laughed Santa Claus. "If you really were lost, it would be a great help to know that; but not being lost, as you ain't, why, of course, we can get along without it. It's queer you don't know your last name, though."

      "I do, too, know my last name!" blurted Little Billee. "It's Billee. That's the last one they gave me, anyhow."

      Santa Claus reflected for a moment, eying the child anxiously.

      "I don't believe you even know your papa's name," he said.

      "Yes, I do," said Little Billee indignantly. "His name is Mr. Harrison."

      "Well, you are a smart little chap," cried Santa Claus gleefully. "You got it right the very first time, didn't you? I really didn't think you knew. But I don't believe you know where your papa keeps his bake-shop, where he makes all those nice cakes and cookies you eat."

      Billee began to laugh again.

      "You can't fool me, Mr. Santa Claus," he said. "I know my papa don't keep a bake-shop just

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