"Good-night," said Billy, "and a Merry Christmas to you." Mr. Wrangler waved his hand with a grand farewell flourish, blew a kiss toward the little form upon the bed, and passed out into the hall. He waited there an instant, as if undecided what course to pursue. Then he ran upstairs to the hall room, hurriedly crowded his personal effects that lay scattered around the room into his valise, and ran down again into the street. The front door closed with a sharp bang behind him, and he quickly disappeared in the snowy night. Billy could not help confessing to a sense of relief when his curious new acquaintance left him. Not that he felt any definite fear of Mr. Wrangler. The human being had yet to be born of whom Billy Warlock was afraid. But there was a something about Mr. Wrangler that he didn't fancy. "It's them eyes," said Billy "and he don't make no noise when he walks." His own bed being occupied by the child, he piled a lot of blankets on the floor, stretched himself upon them, and was soon asleep. The Christmas sun was peeping obliquely into Billy's room and making, with the aid of his shaving-glass, all sorts of fantastic colors on the wall, when a slight tug at the blankets which covered him moved him to start, turn over, open his eyes, stare blankly before him, shut them, open them again, rub them desperately, and finally gaze with awakened consciousness up at the object which had disturbed his slumbers. She was leaning half over the bed, her little fat arms, shoulders, and throat all bare, her bright, tangled hair knotted in bewildering confusion all about her head, and her big blue eyes looking down upon him with a curious interest. How long she had been awake he could only conjecture, but evidently her patience had at last been exhausted, and she had set about premeditatedly to arouse him. Billy was charmed by the little-picture above him, and smiled a cheery greeting. She smiled too, right merrily, and said, "What's your name?" "Billy," said he. "What's yours?" The smile straightway faded from her face like the color from a withered blossom, and she glanced hurriedly and anxiously around the room. "Where's the black man!" she whispered. "The black man!" cried Billy. "What black man, my dear?" "Don't you know him? He's had me ever so long." Billy was puzzled. "A black man had you?" he repeated. "Why you don't mean your uncle, do you?" "Yes," she said, "that's him, and he says if I don't call him 'uncle' he'll cut off my big toe!" Billy Warlock jumped upon his feet like a shot. "The devil he did!" he cried. "I'll punch his head for that!" "And his knife has got six cutters in it!" "I guess he was only funning," said Billy. "He didn't mean it." "That's what he said," she insisted. "Yes, my dear, but he didn't mean it. He was joking." "That's what he said!" Her accent was very positive, and she added as if conning it over, "His knife had six cutters."