Go back with me to the winter of 1850, when hard times travelled over the land like a pestilence, and even entered the houses of the great. I was in my seventh year, and my assets had been largely increased by the steady friendship of Santa Claus. But he was going to pass me that year, the times being harder for him than for other people. I felt sorry for him, and sorry for my sister and mother, and sorry, too, for myself. Well, it was the day before Christmas, and I had been to school and was on my way home alone, my sister being ill, and night was near. Suddenly I became aware that Lizzie McCormick was limping along beside me. “It don't pay to be good,” said she, impatiently. “I've been very good for a long, long time,” I answered. “I've filled the wood-box every night an' morning, an' I gave half my candy to Sarah. I guess God was surprised.” “So was Sarah,” she answered, as I recalled the delight of my sister. I thought a moment and then said, “God loves me.” “Why don't he give you a pair of new boots, then?” “It's hard times.” “He gives 'em to some children.” I felt of the treasure, which I had concealed in my pocket, and wondered whether, under the circumstances, I had better let it go. I tried to take a look at it, but the air was dusky and I could not see. “Come on!” Lizzie called, swinging her wooden leg very fast and keeping ahead of me. “I ain't going home. I'm going to see if I can find Santa Claus.” “So 'm I,” was my answer. “Maybe he'll give us a ride.” We hurried along without speaking until I saw how dark it was, and knew that we were a long way from home. “My mother will be looking for me!” I called, with a little sob. Lizzie stopped and again made a sound like that of a hen with the pip, and I knew it to be a token of her contempt for me. “I don't believe there is any Santa Claus,” she remarked, presently. I had been thinking of that. The faith of my childhood was failing a little, but I clung to the dear old saint and could not let him go. However, I was on the brink of change. In a moment Lizzie put her hand in my coat-pocket. “There,” said she, “see what you've got now.” I felt, and upon my word there was something hard in my pocket wrapped in tissue-paper, and it felt very promising. “It's a real horruck,” said she; “I am going to give it to you.” Then I saw her hand moving before my face. I put up my own hand, but hers began to fly around in the air, and I could not touch it. Now I suddenly remembered that ghosts had a trick of that kind, for so the washerwoman had informed me. For the first time I began to think of the word, and felt its mystery. Lizzie stood shivering, and a sound came out of her mouth like wind whistling in a chimney. “You go 'way!” I cried, in a fright.