figure that, separating itself from the group around young Holmes, now
dashed frantically, hatless, and with dishevelled hair to Mr. and Mrs.
Thornton. "Who's that, Harry? He came down on the train with you--know
him?"

"He's only some newspaper guy or other," answered Pale Face Harry
mechanically, his eyes still roving wildly over the scene around him.

"Oh, is that _all_!" ejaculated Madison with a little gasp. "I've
already exhausted my thanks to Santa Claus and here he comes with
another package done up in dinky pink paper tied with baby ribbon--and
the gold platter it's on goes with it!"

"What d'ye mean?" asked Pale Face Harry heavily.

The newspaper man, the instinct of his calling now rising paramount to
all else, had left the Thorntons and was tearing for the wagon track on
his way to the station and the telegraph office like one possessed.

"By to-morrow morning," said Madison softly, "the missionaries will be
explaining this to the Esquimaux at Oo-lou-lou, the near-invalids in
California will be packing their trunks, likewise those in the languid
shade of the Florida palms; they'll be listing it on the stock exchange
in New York, and the breath of Eden will waft itself o'er plain and
valley until--" he stopped suddenly, as Mrs. Thornton's voice reached
him.

"I am going to _walk_ back, Robert."

"Yes; but, Naida," Thornton protested, "you're not strong enough yet."