That was her unfailing method of control--the appeal to intelligence. Polly sat singing, thoughtfully, the locket in her hand. She had kissed the sacred thing and hung it by a ribbon to her neck and bathed her eyes in the golden light of it and begun to feel the subtle pathos in its odd message. She was thinking of the handsome boy who came along that far May-day with the drove, and who lately had returned to be her teacher at Linley School. Now, he had so much dignity and learning, she liked him not half so well and felt he had no longer any care for her. She blushed to think how she had wept over his letter and kissed it every day for weeks. Her dream was interrupted, presently, by the call of her brother Tom. Having cut the frost on a window-pane, he stood peering out. A man was approaching in the near field. His figure showed to the boot-top, mounting hills of snow, and sank out of sight in the deep hollows. It looked as if he were walking on a rough sea. In a moment he came striding over the dooryard fence on a pair of snowshoes. "It's Mr. Trove, the teacher," said Polly, who quickly began to shake her curls. As the door swung open all greeted the young man. Loosening his snow-shoes, he flung them on the step and came in, a foxtail dangling from his fur cap. He shook hands with Polly and her mother, and lifted Paul to the ceiling. "Hello, young man!" said he. "If one is four, how many are two?" "If you're speaking of new boots," said the widow, "one is at least fifteen." The school teacher made no reply, but stood a moment looking down at the boy. "It's a cold day," said Polly. "I like it," said the teacher, lifting his broad shoulders and smiting them with his hands. "God has been house cleaning. The dome of the sky is all swept and dusted. There isn't a cobweb anywhere. Santa Claus come?" "Yes," said the younger children, who made a rush for their gifts and laid them on chairs before him. "Grand old chap!" said he, staring thoughtfully at the flannel cat in his hands. "Any idea who it is?" "Can't make out," said Mrs. Vaughn; "very singular man." "Generous, too," the teacher added. "That's the best cat I ever saw, Tom. If I had my way, the cats would all be made of flannel. Miss Polly, what did you get?" "This," said Polly, handing him the locket. "Beautiful!" said he, turning it in his hand. "Anything inside?" Polly showed him how to open it. He sat a moment or more looking at the graven gold. "Strange!" said he, presently, surveying the wrought cases, Mrs. Vaughn was now at his elbow. "Strange?" she inquired. "Well, long ago," said he, "I heard of one like it. Some time it may solve the mystery of your Santa Claus." An ear of the teacher had begun to swell and redden. "Should have pulled my cap down," said he, as the widow spoke of it. "Frost-bitten years ago, and if I'm out long in the cold, I begin to feel it." "Must be very painful," said Polly, as indeed it was.