Work was out of the question, and, after playing awhile with Mamie, and telling her wonderful stories of Santa Claus and what he was going to bring her that night, Jack Welsh mounted to his room to get a few hours of much-needed rest. For his hours of patrol duty were from nine o’clock to midnight, and this trying extra work was beginning to tell upon him. With that characteristic unselfishness which endeared him to his men, he had chosen the worst trick for himself. “I’ll be mighty glad when this extry work’s over,” his wife remarked, as she busied herself with the dishes in the kitchen, “fer all it pays double. There’s no use fer a man t’ kill hisself jest t’ make a little extry money. Jack’s purty nigh wore out;—just listen how he snores!” Allan looked up at her and laughed from the place on the floor where he was helping Mamie construct a castle out of painted blocks. “We’ll let him sleep as long as we can,” he said; and so it was not till nearly eight o’clock that Mamie was sent up-stairs to call him. They heard him get heavily out of bed, and, while he was putting on his clothes, Mary trimmed the lamp and stirred up the fire, in order that everything might be bright and warm to welcome him. And Allan, watching her, felt his eyes grow a little misty as he saw her loving thoughtfulness. “Better hurry up, Jack, dear,” she called. “You haven’t much time t’ spare.” “Comin’, Mary, comin’,” he answered, “as soon as I git this plaguy boot on.” “It’s an awful night,” said his wife, as he came sleepily down the stair. “Do you have t’ go, Jack? Can’t y’ stay home on Christmas Eve?” “No, I have to go, Mary;” and he doused hands and face in a great basin of rain-water. “It’s th’ last time, y’ know, an’ I ain’t a-goin’ t’ shirk now. Maybe th’ pay-car’ll come through t’-night. They promised us our pay this month fer Christmas, y’ know, an’ we want to be sure that she gits here all right. To-morrow we’ll have a great time, an’ they’ll be no more patrol duty after that.” Mamie danced around the floor, for she had received mysterious hints from Allan of what was to happen on the morrow, and her father picked her up and kissed her before he sat down to the supper that was on the table awaiting him. He drank his coffee and ate his bacon and eggs with an appetite born of good digestion. Then he donned his great boots and rubber coat. “Now, don’t y’ worry, Mary,” he said, drawing his wife to him. “There won’t a drop of rain git to me in this rig. Good-bye, Mamie,” and he picked up the child and kissed her again. “Take good care of ’em, Allan.” He rammed his wide leather hat down farther upon his head, made sure that his lantern was burning properly, took up the heavy club he always carried, and opened the door. “Good-bye,” he called back, and in a moment had disappeared in the darkness. CHAPTER XVI. A CALL TO DUTY