names than Ben Holt. It was surely better than Eygji Watts, whose sanguine
parents were said to have named him with the first five letters they drew
from a hat containing the alphabet; Ben Holt was assuredly better than
Eygji, even had this not been rendered into "Hedge-hog" by careless
companions. His last confusion of ideas was a wondering if Bernal Linford
was as good a name as Ben Holt, and why he could not remember having
chosen it in preference to a goldpiece. Back of this, in his fading
consciousness was the high-coloured image of a candy cane, too splendid
for earth.

Then, far in the night, as it might have seemed to the little boy, came
the step of slippered feet. This time Clytie, satisfying herself that both
boys slept, set down her candle and went softly out, leaving the door
open. There came back with her one bearing gifts--a tall, dark old man,
with a face of many deep lines and severe set, who yet somehow shed
kindness, as if he held a spirit of light prisoned within his darkness, so
that, while only now and then could a visible ray of it escape through
the sombre eye or through a sudden winning quality in the harsh voice, it
nevertheless radiated from him sensibly at all times, to belie his
sternness and puzzle those who feared him.

Uneasy enough he looked now as Clytie unloaded him of the bundles and
bulky toys. In a silence broken only by their breathing they quickly
bestowed the gifts--some in the hanging stockings at the fire-place,
others beside each bed, in chairs or on the mantel.

Then they were in the hall again, the door closed so that they could
speak. The old man took up his own candle from a stand against the wall.

"The little one is like her," he said.