Never in all her nine years had Nancy had such a Christmas. After saying her morning prayers, she sat down at the table, where, with elbows outspread and her little tongue peeping out as she moved her pen, she wrote the following letter:-- "DEAR MR. CLAUS,--Thank you very much for those lovely presents: I like them very much. And thank you for the lovely time I had going about with you last night. I shall never forget it. Please forgive me for thinking you were the wicked poacher, Tom Grollins. I must now say good-bye. "I send you 200 kisses (x x x etsetra). "Your grateful little friend, "NANCY ROGERS." And then she addressed it to him at the Grange. When Nancy had stamped and posted it, her grandmother and her father came in to breakfast, and received Nancy's grateful thanks, for she wore a pretty new frock. Then she told them that as she had hurried back from the post-box, so as not to be late for breakfast, she had heard the head gardener say to the butler that Tom Grollins had been seen that night striding quietly along with a big bag well stuffed. "But, Dad," continued his daughter with conviction, "it isn't true. I'm sure it's a mistake." "Why isn't it true, lass?" inquired her father. "It's likelier to be true than not." "Because I made the same mistake myself," said Nancy. "Well, it would take a good deal to persuade me that my little meeting with that slippery rascal turned out to be a mistake!" exclaimed the gamekeeper, as he set down his cup and smiled with satisfaction. "When did you meet him, little woman?" "Last night." "And who do you fancy it was, dearie?" asked the old grandmother. "I _know_ who it was, Gran. It was Mr. Santa Claus!" As they smiled still, she ran and fetched his presents she was anxious to show. And Nancy knew she was right, and that it _was_ Santa Claus, for nothing more was heard of the poacher Tom Grollins for ever so long, and every one Nancy asked seemed to know all about Santa Claus having been on his rounds that night--even those who hadn't seen him. [Illustration: _She ran and fetched his presents she was anxious to show_] ALL ON A FIFTH OF NOVEMBER MORNING It might have been the middle of the night; but it wasn't--it was Guy Fawkes' Day, and eight o'clock on a foggy morning. The London square was more than usually hushed and mournful, except for a warning call or whistle as a van cautiously lumbered along, or blundered on to the pavement. The nursery fire did its best to look cheerful: the lights were all on too, showing up the bright pictures on the walls and the bright faces of the three children who were chattering gaily at the breakfast-table. And they all looked so smart! Alec and Frank in their best suits, and tiny Molly wore her prettiest white frock and her coral necklace, just as if she were going to a party.