'h.e.l.lo, Mr Barrington,' said the two boys in a breath.

'h.e.l.lo,' replied Barrington, as he patted the baby's cheek. 'What's the matter here? What's Freddie crying for?'

'He wants that there 'orse, mister, the one with the real 'air on,'

said Charley, smiling indulgently like a grown-up person who realized the absurdity of the demand.

'Fweddie want gee-gee,' repeated the child, taking hold of Barrington's hand and returning to the window. 'Nice gee-gee.'

'Tell him that Santa Claus'll bring it to him on Christmas,' whispered Elsie. 'P'raps he'll believe you and that'll satisfy him, and he's sure to forget all about it in a little while.'

'Are you still out of work, Mr Barrington?' inquired Frankie.

'No,' replied Barrington slowly. 'I've got something to do at last.'

'Well, that's a good job, ain't it?' remarked Charley.

'Yes,' said Barrington. 'And whom do you think I'm working for?'

'Who?'

'Santa Claus.'

'Santa Claus!' echoed the children, opening their eyes to the fullest extent.

'Yes,' continued Barrington, solemnly. 'You know, he is a very old man now, so old that he can't do all his work himself. Last year he was so tired that he wasn't able to get round to all the children he wanted to give things to, and consequently a great many of them never got anything at all. So this year he's given me a job to help him. He's given me some money and a list of children's names, and against their names are written the toys they are to have. My work is to buy the things and give them to the boys and girls whose names are on the list.'

The children listened to this narrative with bated breath. Incredible as the story seemed, Barrington's manner was so earnest as to almost compel belief.

'Really and truly, or are you only having a game?' said Frankie at length, speaking almost in a whisper. Elsie and Charley maintained an awestruck silence, while Freddie beat upon the gla.s.s with the palms of his hands.

'Really and truly,' replied Barrington unblushingly as he took out his pocket-book and turned over the leaves. 'I've got the list here; perhaps your names are down for something.'

The three children turned pale and their hearts beat violently as they listened wide-eyed for what was to follow.

'Let me see,' continued Barrington, scanning the pages of the book, 'Why, yes, here they are! Elsie Linden, one doll with clothes that can be taken off, one tea-set, one needlecase. Freddie Easton, one horse with real hair. Charley Linden, one four-wheeled waggon full of groceries. Frankie Owen, one railway with tunnel, station, train with real coal for engine, signals, red lamp and place to turn the engines round.'

Barrington closed the book: 'So you may as well have your things now,'

he continued, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone. 'We'll buy them here; it will save me a lot of work. I shall not have the trouble of taking them round to where you live. It's lucky I happened to meet you, isn't it?'

The children were breathless with emotion, but they just managed to gasp out that it was--very lucky.

As they followed him into the shop, Freddie was the only one of the four whose condition was anything like normal. All the others were in a half-dazed state. Frankie was afraid that he was not really awake at all. It couldn't be true; it must be a dream.

In addition to the hair, the horse was furnished with four wheels. They did not have it made into a parcel, but tied some string to it and handed it over to its new owner. The elder children were scarcely conscious of what took place inside the shop; they knew that Barrington was talking to the shopman, but they did not hear what was said--the sound seemed far away and unreal.

The shopman made the doll, the tea-set and the needlecase into one parcel and gave it to Elsie. The railway, in a stout cardboard box, was also wrapped up in brown paper, and Frankie's heart nearly burst when the man put the package into his arms.

When they came out of the toy shop they said 'Good night' to Frankie, who went off carrying his parcel very carefully and feeling as if he were walking on air. The others went into a provision merchant's near by, where the groceries were purchased and packed into the waggon.

Then Barrington, upon referring to the list to make quite certain that he had not forgotten anything, found that Santa Claus had put down a pair of boots each for Elsie and Charley, and when they went to buy these, it was seen that their stockings were all ragged and full of holes, so they went to a draper's and bought some stocking also.

Barrington said that although they were not on the list, he was sure Santa Claus would not object--he had probably meant them to have them, but had forgotten to put them down.

Chapter 54

The End

The following evening Barrington called at Owen's place. He said he was going home for the holidays and had come to say goodbye for a time.

Owen had not been doing very well during these last few months, although he was one of the few lucky ones who had had some small share of work. Most of the money he earned went for rent, to pay which they often had to go short of food. Lately his chest had become so bad that the slightest exertion brought on fits of coughing and breathlessness, which made it almost impossible to work even when he had the opportunity; often it was only by an almost superhuman effort of will that he was able to continue working at all. He contrived to keep up appearances to a certain extent before Rushton, who, although he knew that Owen was not so strong as the other men, was inclined to overlook it so long as he was able to do his share of work, for Owen was a very useful hand when things were busy. But lately some of the men with whom he worked began to manifest dissatisfaction at having him for a mate. When two men are working together, the master expects to see two men's work done, and if one of the two is not able to do his share it makes it all the harder for the other.

He never had the money to go to a doctor to get advice, but earlier in the winter he had obtained from Rushton a ticket for the local hospital. Every Sat.u.r.day throughout the year when the men were paid they were expected to put a penny or twopence in the hospital box.

Contributions were obtained in this way from every firm and workshop in the town. The masters periodically handed these boxes over to the hospital authorities and received in return some tickets which they gave to anyone who needed and asked for them. The employer had to fill in the ticket or application form with the name and address of the applicant, and to certify that in his opinion the individual was a deserving case, 'suitable to receive this charity'. In common with the majority of workmen, Owen had a sort of horror of going for advice to this hospital, but he was so ill that he stifled his pride and went.

It happened that it turned out to be more expensive than going to a private doctor, for he had to be at the hospital at a certain hour on a particular morning. To do this he had to stay away from work. The medicine they prescribed and which he had to buy did him no good, for the truth was that it was not medicine that he--like thousands of others--needed, but proper conditions of life and proper food; things that had been for years past as much out of his reach as if he had been dying alone in the middle of a desert.

Occasionally Nora contrived--by going without some other necessary--to buy him a bottle of one of the many much-advertised medicines; but although some of these things were good she was not able to buy enough for him to derive any benefit from them.

Although he was often seized with a kind of terror of the future--of being unable to work--he fought against these feelings and tried to believe that when the weather became warmer he would be all right once more.

When Barrington came in Owen was sitting in a deck-chair by the fire in the sitting-room. He had been to work that day with Harlow, washing off the ceilings and stripping the old paper from the walls of two rooms in Rushton's home, and he looked very haggard and exhausted.

'I have never told you before,' said Barrington, after they had been talking for a while, 'but I suppose you have guessed that I did not work for Rushton because I needed to do so in order to live. I just wanted to see things for myself; to see life as it is lived by the majority. My father is a wealthy man. He doesn't approve of my opinions, but at same time he does not interfere with me for holding them, and I have a fairly liberal allowance which I spent in my own way. I'm going to pa.s.s Christmas with my own people, but in the spring I intend to fit out a Socialist Van, and then I shall come back here.

We'll have some of the best speakers in the movement; we'll hold meetings every night; we'll drench the town with literature, and we'll start a branch of the party.'

Owen's eye kindled and his pale face flushed.

'I shall be able to do something to advertise the meetings,' he said.

For instance, I could paint some posters and placards.'

'And I can help to give away handbills,' chimed in Frankie, looking up from the floor, where he was seated working the railway. 'I know a lot of boys who'll come along with me to put 'em under the doors as well.'

They were in the sitting-room and the door was shut. Mrs Owen was in the next room with Ruth. While the two men were talking the front-door bell was heard to ring and Frankie ran out to see who it was, closing the door after him. Barrington and Owen continued their conversation, and from time to time they could hear a low murmur of voices from the adjoining room. After a little while they heard some one go out by the front door, and almost immediately afterward Frankie--wild with excitement, burst into the room, crying out:

'Dad and Mr Barrington! Three cheers!' And he began capering gleefully about the room, evidently transported with joy.

'What are the cheers to be for?' inquired Barrington, rather mystified by this extraordinary conduct.

'Mr Easton came with Freddie to see Mrs Easton, and she's gone home again with them,' replied Freddie, 'and--she's given the baby to us for a Christmas box!'

Barrington was already familiar with the fact of Easton's separation from his wife, and Owen now told him the Story of their reconciliation.

Barrington took his leave shortly afterwards. His train left at eight; it was already nearly half past seven, and he said he had a letter to write. Nora brought the baby in to show him before he went, and then she helped Frankie to put on his overcoat, for Barrington had requested that the boy might be permitted to go a little way with him.

There was a stationer's shop at the end of the street. He went in here and bought a sheet of notepaper and an envelope, and, having borrowed the pen and ink, wrote a letter which he enclosed in the envelope with the two other pieces that he took out of his pocketbook. Having addressed the letter he came out of the shop; Frankie was waiting for him outside. He gave the letter to the boy.

'I want you to take this straight home and give it to your dad. I don't want you to stop to play or even to speak to anyone till you get home.'