Bob set the tree alight, and her ladyship distributed the red stockings.
Nobody was left out, not even the Candy Man, or Nancy and Jenny hovering
in the background.

Upon occasions like the Pigeons' Christmas Tree we long to linger, but
they are evanescent. The Candy Man must see the children home after a
few brief words with Miss Bentley.

"The Fairy Godmother Society must have been organised, and my name
entered among its beneficiaries," he told her.

"I am glad if you liked it," she replied. "I thought you would.
To-morrow I am going to Pennington Park to stay till after New Year's,
but Christmas Eve belonged by rights to the Little Red Chimney." She
smiled, and the Candy Man nodded understandingly.

This much in the midst of the chatter that accompanied the putting on of
small coats and leggings.

"And I may hope that I am forgiven?" he had a chance to add as she gave
him her hand at parting.

Miss Bentley's eyes twinkled. "It will do no harm to hope," she told
him.

The Candy Man, his red stocking protruding from his overcoat pocket,
conducted the noisy flock to their homes, then turning southward he
walked on and on toward the edge of the town. As is fitting on Christmas
Eve, a fine snow had begun to fall, sifting silently over everything,
transforming even the ugly and pitiful with a mantle of beauty.