BOOK ONE--The Village of Edom BOOK TWO--The Same BOOK THREE--New York CHARACTERS ALLAN DELCHER, a retired Presbyterian clergyman. BERNAL LINFORD } ALLAN LINFORD } his grandsons. CLAYTON LINFORD, Their father, of the artistic temperament, and versatile. CLYTEMNESTRA, Housekeeper for Delcher. COUSIN BILL J., a man with a splendid past. NANCY CREALOCK, A wondering child and woman. AUNT BELL, Nancy's worldly guide, who, having lived in Boston, has "broadened into the higher unbelief." MISS ALVIRA ABNEY, Edom's leading milliner, captivated by Cousin Bill J. MILO BARRUS, The village atheist. THE STRONG PERSON, of the "Gus Levy All-star Shamrock Vaudeville." CALEB WEBSTER, a travelled Edomite. CYRUS BROWETT, a New York capitalist and patron of the Church. MRS. DONALD WYETH, an appreciative parishioner of Allan Linford. THE REV MR. WHITTAKER, a Unitarian. FATHER RILEY, of the Church of Rome. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "'My dear, Bernal is saying good-bye!'" (Frontispiece) "She could be made to believe that only he could protect her from the Gratcher" "They looked forward with equal eagerness to the day when he should become a great and good man" "He gazed long and exultingly into the eyes yielded so abjectly to his" * * * * * BOOK ONE The Age of Fable [Illustration] THE SEEKER BOOK ONE--THE AGE OF FABLE CHAPTER I HOW THE CHRISTMAS SAINT WAS PROVED The whispering died away as they heard heavy steps and saw a line of light under the shut door. Then a last muffled caution from the larger boy on the cot. "Now, remember! There ain't any, but don't you let _on_ there ain't--else he won't bring you a single thing!" Before the despairing soul on the trundle-bed could pierce the vulnerable heel of this, the door opened slowly to the broad shape of Clytemnestra. One hand shaded her eyes from the candle she carried, and she peered into the corner where the two beds were, a flurry of eagerness in her face, checked by stoic self-mastery. At once from the older boy came the sounds of one who breathes labouredly in deep sleep after a hard day. But the littler boy sat rebelliously up, digging combative fists into eyes that the light tickled. Clytemnestra warmly rebuked him, first simulating the frown of the irritated. "Now, Bernal! Wide awake! My days alive! You act like a wild Indian's little boy. This'll _never_ do. Now you go right to sleep this minute, while I watch you. Look how fine and good Allan is." She spoke low, not to awaken the one virtuous sleeper, who seemed thereupon to breathe with a more swelling and obtrusive rectitude. "Clytie--now--_ain't_ there any Santa Claus?" "Now what a sinful question _that_ is!" "But _is_ there?" "Don't he bring you things?" "Oh, there _ain't_ any!" There was a sullen desperation in this, as of one done with quibbles. But the woman still paltered wretchedly.