"But, doggone it, cain't you see--I mean feel--that I ain't got hardly
any clothes on? I'd ketch my death o' cold, an' besides--"

"Well, I ain't got as much on as you have. You got socks on an'--"

"But supposin' it's a woman," protested he. "You wouldn't want a woman
to see me lookin' like this, would you? Go ahead an'--"

"I suppose you'd like to have a man see me like this. I ain't used to
receivin' men in--but, say, whoever it was, is gone. Didn't you hear the
steps? Open the door, Anderson. See what it is."

And so, after much urging, Anderson Crow unbolted his front door and
turned the knob. The wind did the rest. It almost blew the door off its
hinges, carrying Mr. and Mrs. Crow back against the wall. A gale of snow
swept over them.

"Gee!" gasped Anderson, crimping his toes. Mrs. Crow was peering under
his arm.

"Look there!" she cried. Close to the door a large bundle was lying.

"A present from some one!" speculated Mr. Crow; but some seconds passed
before he stooped to pick it up. "Funny time fer Santy to be callin'
'round. Wonder if he thinks it's next Christmas."

"Be careful, Anderson; mebby it's an infernal machine!" cried his wife.

"Well, it's loaded, 'y ginger," he grunted as straightened up in the
face of the gale. "Shut the door, Eva! Cain't you see it's snowin'?"