That night when Nancy was in bed she could think of nothing else but Santa Claus and the wonderful toys; and the thoughts were just beginning to get confused with a greatly envied skipping-rope and workbox, when she suddenly sat bolt upright in bed wide awake. Her room was a tiny one leading off the kitchen, and in the moonlight she had just seen Tom Grollins pass by--this time with a full bag on his back, and the faithful Muffins was close at his heels. "Well, I never did!" exclaimed Nancy, in her astonishment and vexation unconsciously quoting her grandmother; "I _never_ did! Now what's to be done? Gran's no use--Dad's out. But Dad's sure to find that wicked poacher," she reflected, on hearing the clock strike nine: "he's in the forest, and can't be far." And she lay back, relieved at the thought that her father had suspiciously refused the invitation of a shabby, gaitered, and very doubtful sportsman, to drink Christmas in with mulled beer at the village tavern. She had heard her father remark afterwards that he wanted "to be within earshot of gunshot." So she wouldn't worry, for Tom wouldn't get the things after all. * * * * * After a time Nancy changed her mind. As in a dream, but not feeling a bit sleepy, she quickly donned her cloak, stealthily opened the kitchen door so as not to disturb the old lady, and hastened out into the night. Curiously enough, she didn't feel cold in the bleak air--and in her hurry she never even noticed she was without shoes or stockings. In front of her was a man, and she quickened her pace. She soon overtook him--sooner than she expected, for dark clouds overshadowed the moon, and she was at his side before she knew it. "Tom Grollins!" she exclaimed, breathless and indignant: "how dare you! I've caught you again!" "I'm not Tom Grollins," replied her companion in a deep, manly voice, in which a funny chuckle seemed to rumble. For a moment the child hesitated. It certainly didn't sound like Tom Grollins's whiny treble, but then--perhaps he was pretending, so as to put her off. "Yes, you are," she retorted firmly. "Now, what are you doing here?" "It's a secret." "You're after poaching again. I shall report you to Dad. And," she added severely, "you've just got to give me this very minute all you've got in that bag." "All in my bag? Softly, softly: wouldn't that be highway robbery, with threats?" answered the jolly voice, and with a laugh--"Oh, greedy!" Nancy stopped and stared hard, but it was too dark for her to see him, as she had done from her bed. He had stopped too. "Who are you, then?" she asked lamely. "Santa Claus," came the reply. "Santa Claus!" repeated the child in astonishment.