Mr. Truitt said not a word. Cap'n Abe, shrewd observer that he was, shifted the topic of conversation adroitly. He saw no reason for allowing a good customer to be bullyragged until he was run out of the store and might be led thereby to take his trade to the Cardhaven shops. "It does seem," the storekeeper said reflectively, "as though the children ought to be giv all the good times we can make for 'em at Christmas. I will allow 'Liphalet's done more than his sheer in that way since he's lived here on the Shell Road. He's been Santa Claus ev'ry year, as well as 'dressin' the part,' as them movie actors used to say. Some of the rest of us might better put our hands in our pockets an' help. "It's a pleasure to think," went on Cap'n Abe, "of how children all over the world 'bout this time o' year are getting ready to hang up their stockin's for Santa Claus to stuff with goodies an' toys. I've heard Cap'n Am'zon say----" He halted in his speech and his jovial face fell. Cap'n Jonah Hand, who was preparing to endure the expected yarn with such fortitude as he could summon, was startled by the change of expression that came over the storekeeper's visage. "Wal," sighed Cap'n Abe, at last, "we won't talk 'bout that. But it allus did puzzle me what them poor naked children of 'India's coral strand,' that they tell about, hang up to get presents in on Christmas Eve." "Whatever!" ejaculated Cap'n Hand under his breath. Cap'n Abe's flights of imagination were mysterious to him. The conversational tide in the store ebbed and flowed. Mr. Truitt seized an opportunity to tell the storekeeper quietly that he and Cap'n Jonah had occasion to confer with him privately. The Shell Road oracle nodded that he understood, and proceeded to get rid of customers and loiterers alike at an early hour. He locked the store door behind Washy Gallup's hooped back, and snuffed out the window lights. He returned to the counter and held up the flap of it, motioning Mr. Truitt and Cap'n Jonah to pass through. "Go right back to the livin' room, 'Liphalet, you an' Cap'n Hand. You know the way. I'll be right with ye soon's I bank the fire here for the night. I calc'late we'll have consider'ble of a frost before morning." The big argand burner over the table filled the comfortable room with mellow light. The tortoise-shell cat sleeping on a turkey-red cushion in one of the wide rockers, opened his eyes lazily and yawned at the visitors. "Find yourselves cheers, boys, and sit down," called Cap'n Abe's voice from the store. "Slap Diddimus off'n that cushion, 'Liphalet. He's got so he thinks he purty nigh owns this craft." But the ex-steward had a liking for cats. As he had told Cap'n Jonah, a cat was often his only company. He scooped Diddimus into his arms and, sitting down in the rocker, held the big, purring, furry animal in his lap while he swung back and forth.