This munificent gift did not appear to impress Mr. Brown very much, any more than it did Livingstone, who felt himself flush. "Business is business, you know?" said the shopkeeper,--an aphorism on which Livingstone had often acted, but had never had cited against him. The shopkeeper was evidently considering. Livingstone was half angry and half embarrassed. He felt as he had not done in twenty years. The shopkeeper was weighing him in his scales as he might have done a pound of merchandise, and Livingstone could not tell what he would decide. There was Kitty, however, her eyes still filled with light. He could not disappoint her. She, too, felt that he was being weighed and suddenly came to his rescue. "He's an awful kind man," she said earnestly. "He hasn't got any little children of his own, and he's going to give things to little poor children. He always does that, I guess," she added. "Well, no, I don't," said Livingstone, looking at the shopkeeper frankly; "but I wish I had, and I'll pay you." "All right. She knows you and that will do," said Mr. Brown. Kitty, with the light of an explorer in her eyes, was making new discoveries on the shelves, and the two men walked to the back of the shop where the shopkeeper wrote a list of names. Then Livingstone and Kitty got into the sleigh and drove for a half-hour or so. On their return Mr. Brown was ready. His shop looked as though it had been struck by a whirlwind. The floor and counters were covered with boxes and bundles, and he and Livingstone packed the big sleigh as full as it would hold, leaving only one seat deep in the furs amid the heaped up parcels. Then suddenly from somewhere Mr. Brown produced a great, shaggy cape with a hood, and Livingstone threw it around Kitty and getting in lifted her into the little nest between the furs. Kitty's eyes were dancing and her breath was coming quickly with excitement. It was a supreme moment. "Where are we going, Mr. Livingstone?" she whispered. She was afraid to speak aloud lest she might break the spell and awake. "Just where you like." "To the Children's Hospital," she panted. "To the Children's Hospital, driver," repeated Livingstone. Kitty gave another gasp. "We'll play you're Santa Claus," she said, in a voice of low delight. "No. Play you are Santa Claus's partner," said Livingstone. "And you?" "You are not to say anything about me." CHAPTER XIV Livingstone had not had such a drive in years. The little form snuggled against him closer and closer and the warm half sentences of childish prattle, as the little girl's imagination wove its fancies, came to him from amid the furs and made him feel as though he had left the earth and were driving in a new world. It was like a dream. Had youth come back? Was it possible? The sleigh stopped in front of a great long building. "You have to ring at the side door at night," said the driver. He appeared to know a good deal about the hospital.