think any kind of a bug could pry off a padlock?"

Mrs. Gratz seemed to let this sink into her mind and to revolve there,
and get to feeling at home, before she answered.

"No," she said at length, "I guess not. But Santy Claus could do it.
Such a big, fat man. Sure he could do it."

"Why, you--" began the thin man crossly, and then changed his tone.
"There ain't no such thing as Santy Claus," he said as one might speak
to a child--but even a chicken thief would not tell a child such a
thing, I hope.

"No?" queried Mrs. Gratz sadly. "No Santy Claus? And I was scared of
it, myself, with such toober-chlosis bugs around. He should not to
have gone into such a chicken coop with so many bugs busting up all
over. He had a right to have fumigated himself, once. And now he
ain't. He's all eat up, on the hoof, bones, and feet and all. And such
a kind man, too."

The thin Santa Claus frowned. He had half an idea that Mrs. Gratz was
fooling with him, and when he spoke it was crisply.

"Now, see here," he said, "last night somebody broke into your chicken
coop and stole all your chickens. I know that. And he's been stealing
chickens all around this town, and all around this part of the
country, too, and I know that. And this stealing has got to stop. I've
got to catch that thief. And to catch him I've got to have a clue. A
clue is something he has left around, or dropped, where he was
stealing. Now, did that chicken thief drop any clues in your chicken