Suddenly before him in the snow stood a little figure muffled in a shaggy cape with hood half thrown back. The childish face was uplifted in the moonlight. With lips half parted she too was listening, and for a moment Livingstone could hardly take in that she was real. She seemed--! Could she be--? "_The angel of the Lord came down,_"--chimed the mellow bells. The chiming died out. "Christ is born," said the child. "You heard the bells?" "Yes," said Livingstone humbly. "It's all done," she said; "and I prayed so hard that not one of them stirred, and now when they wake they'll think it was real Santa Claus. They say he always comes at twelve and I counted the clocks.--I wonder if he went home?" She was speaking now to herself; but Livingstone answered. "I'm sure of it," he said. "_The angel of the Lord came down,"_ still chimed in his ears. Suddenly a little warm hand was slipped into his confidingly. "I think we'd better go home now." The voice was full of deep content. Livingstone's hand closed on hers and as he said "Yes," he was conscious of a pang at the thought of giving her up. He lifted her to put her in the sleigh. As he did so the little arms were put about his neck and warm little lips kissed him. Livingstone pressed her to his breast convulsively and climbed into the sleigh without putting her down. Neither spoke and when the sleigh stopped in front of Mr. Clark's door the child was still in Livingstone's arms, her head resting on his shoulder, the golden curls falling over his sleeve. Even when he transferred her to her father's arms she did not wake. She only sighed with sweet content and as Livingstone bent over and kissed her softly, muttered a few words about "Santa Claus's partner." A half-hour later, Livingstone, after another interview with Mr. Brown who was awaiting him patiently, drove back again to Mr. Clark's door with another sleighful of packages which were all duly transferred to the small room where stood the little Christmas-tree. The handshake Livingstone gave John Clark as he came down the steps of the little house was the warmest he had given any man in twenty years. It was so warm that it seemed to send the blood tingling through Livingstone's heart and warm it anew. CHAPTER XV Livingstone drove home through silent streets, but they were not silent for him. In his ears a chime was still ringing and it bore him far across the snow-filled streets and the snow-filled years to a land of warmth and light. The glow was still about his heart and the tingle which the pressure of Kitty Clark's arms about his neck, and John Clark's clasp of his hand had started still kept it warm. At his door Livingstone dismissed his driver and as he cheerily wished him a merry Christmas the man's cheery reply showed that Livingstone had already found the secret of good cheer.