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