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