“‘I can’t express a millionth part of what I’ve thought of,’ I cried, ‘but it’s something like this... oh, can’t you see it? Why are children not afraid of Santa Claus, though he comes like a thief in the night? He is permitted secrecy, trespass, almost treachery—because there are more toys where he has been. What should we feel if there were less? Down what chimney from hell would come the goblin that should take away the children’s balls and dolls while they slept? Could a Greek tragedy be more gray and cruel than that daybreak and awakening? Dog-stealer, horse-stealer, man-stealer—can you think of anything so base as a toy-stealer?’ “The burglar, as if absently, took a large revolver from his pocket and laid it on the table beside the decanter, but still kept his blue reflective eyes fixed on my face. “‘Man!’ I said, ‘all stealing is toy-stealing. That’s why it’s really wrong. The goods of the unhappy children of men should be really respected because of their worthlessness. I know Naboth’s vineyard is as painted as Noah’s Ark. I know Nathan’s ewe-lamb is really a woolly baa-lamb on a wooden stand. That is why I could not take them away. I did not mind so much, as long as I thought of men’s things as their valuables; but I dare not put a hand upon their vanities.’ “After a moment I added abruptly, ‘Only saints and sages ought to be robbed. They may be stripped and pillaged; but not the poor little worldly people of the things that are their poor little pride.’ “He set out two wineglasses from the cupboard, filled them both, and lifted one of them with a salutation towards his lips. “‘Don’t do it!’ I cried. ‘It might be the last bottle of some rotten vintage or other. The master of this house may be quite proud of it. Don’t you see there’s something sacred in the silliness of such things?’ “‘It’s not the last bottle,’ answered my criminal calmly; ‘there’s plenty more in the cellar.’ “‘You know the house, then?’ I said. “‘Too well,’ he answered, with a sadness so strange as to have something eerie about it. ‘I am always trying to forget what I know— and to find what I don’t know.’ He drained his glass. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘it will do him good.’ “‘What will do him good?’ “‘The wine I’m drinking,’ said the strange person. “‘Does he drink too much, then?’ I inquired. “‘No,’ he answered, ‘not unless I do.’ “‘Do you mean,’ I demanded, ‘that the owner of this house approves of all you do?’ “‘God forbid,’ he answered; ‘but he has to do the same.’