While I was gazing into the case,Mr.Garner opened a safe behind him,laying before me a large sapphire set with diamonds in a platinum brooch;a beautiful stone,in the depths of it gleaming a fire like a star in an arctic sky.I had not given Maude anything of value of late.Decidedly,this was of value;Mr.Garner named the price glibly;if Mrs.Paret didn't care for it,it might be brought back or exchanged.I took it,with a sigh of relief.Leaving the store,I paused on the edge of the rushing stream of humanity,with the problem of the children's gifts still to be solved.I thought of my own childhood,when at Christmastide I had walked with my mother up and down this very street,so changed and modernized now;recalling that I had had definite desires,desperate ones;but my imagination failed me when I tried to summon up the emotions connected with them.I had no desires now:I could buy anything in reason in the whole street.What did Matthew and Moreton want?and little Biddy?Maude had not "spoiled"them;but they didn't seem to have any definite wants.The children made me think,with a sudden softening,of Tom Peters,and I went into a tobacconist's and bought him a box of expensive cigars.Then I told the chauffeur to take me to a toy-shop,where I stood staring through a plate-glass window at the elaborate playthings devised for the modern children of luxury.In the centre was a toy man-of-war,three feet in length,with turrets and guns,and propellers and a real steam-engine.As a boy I should have dreamed about it,schemed for it,bartered my immortal soul for it.But--if I gave it to Matthew,what was there for Moreton?A steam locomotive caught my eye,almost as elaborate.Forcing my way through the doors,I captured a salesman,and from a state bordering on nervous collapse he became galvanized into an intense alertness and respect when he understood my desires.He didn't know the price of the objects in question.He brought the proprietor,an obsequious little German who,on learning my name,repeated it in every sentence.For Biddy I chose a doll that was all but human;when held by a young woman for my inspection,it elicited murmurs of admiration from the women shoppers by whom we were surrounded.
The proprietor promised to make a special delivery of the three articles before seven o'clock....
Presently the automobile,after speeding up the asphalt of Grant Avenue,stopped before the new house.In spite of the change that house had made in my life,in three weeks I had become amazingly used to it;yet I had an odd feeling that Christmas eve as I stood under the portico with my key in the door,the same feeling of the impersonality of the place which I had experienced before.Not that for one moment I would have exchanged it for the smaller house we had left.I opened the door.How often,in that other house,I had come in the evening seeking quiet,my brain occupied with a problem,only to be annoyed by the romping of the children on the landing above.A noise in one end of it echoed to the other.But here,as I entered the hall,all was quiet:a dignified,deep-carpeted stairway swept upward before me,and on either side were wide,empty rooms;and in the subdued light of one of them I saw a dark figure moving silently about--the butler.He came forward to relieve me,deftly,of my hat and overcoat.Well,I had it at last,this establishment to which I had for so long looked forward.And yet that evening,as I hesitated in the hall,I somehow was unable to grasp that it was real and permanent,the very solidity of the walls and doors paradoxically suggested transientness,the butler a flitting ghost.How still the place was!Almost oppressively still.I recalled oddly a story of a peasant who,yearning for the great life,had stumbled upon an empty palace,its tables set with food in golden dishes.Before two days had passed he had fled from it in horror back to his crowded cottage and his drudgery in the fields.Never once had the sense of possession of the palace been realized.Nor did I feel that I possessed this house,though I had the deeds of it in my safe and the receipted bills in my files.It eluded me;seemed,in my,bizarre mood of that evening,almost to mock me."You have built me,"it seemed to say,"but I am stronger than you,because you have not earned me."Ridiculous,when the years of my labour and the size of my bank account were considered!Such,however,is the verbal expression of my feeling.Was the house empty,after all?Had something happened?With a slight panicky sensation Iclimbed the stairs,with their endless shallow treads,:to hurry through the silent hallway to the schoolroom.Reassuring noises came faintly through the heavy door.I opened it.Little Biddy was careening round and round,crying out:--"To-morrow's Chris'mas!Santa Claus is coming tonight."Matthew was regarding her indulgently,sympathetically,Moreton rather scornfully.The myth had been exploded for both,but Matthew still hugged it.That was the difference between them.Maude,seated on the floor,perceived me first,and glanced up at me with a smile.
"It's father!"she said.
Biddy stopped in the midst of a pirouette.At the age of seven she was still shy with me,and retreated towards Maude.
"Aren't we going to have a tree,father?"demanded Moreton,aggressively.
"Mother won't tell us--neither will Miss Allsop."Miss Allsop was their governess.
"Why do you want a tree?"I asked.
"Oh,for Biddy,"he said.
"It wouldn't be Christmas without a tree,"Matthew declared,"--and Santa Claus,"he added,for his sister's benefit.
"Perhaps Santa Claus,when he sees we've got this big house,will think we don't need anything,and go on to some poorer children,"said Maude.
"You wouldn't blame him if he did that,--would you?"The response to this appeal cannot be said to have been enthusiastic....
