back and slept, placidly and fatly, with her mouth open, as if she
expected Santa Claus to pass by and drop a present into it. Her dreams
were pleasant.

It was no disappointment to Mrs. Gratz that Santa Claus had not come
to her house. She had not expected him. She did not even believe in
him.

"Yes," she had told Mrs. Flannery, next door, as she handed a little
parcel of toys over the fence for the little Flannerys, "once I
believes in such a Santy Claus myself, yet. I make me purty good times
then. But now I'm too old. I don't believe in such things. But I make
purty good times, still. I have a good little house, and money in the
bank--"

Suddenly Mrs. Gratz closed her mouth and opened her eyes. She smelled
imaginary bacon frying. She felt real hunger. She slid out of bed and
began to dress herself, and she had just buttoned her red flannel
petticoat around her wide waist when she heard a silence, and paused.
For a full minute she stood, trying to realize what the silence
meant. The English sparrows were chirping as usual and making enough
noise, but through their bickerings the silence still annoyed Mrs.
Gratz, and then, quite suddenly again, she knew. Her chickens were not
making their usual morning racket.

"I bet you I know what it is, sure," she said, and continued to dress
as placidly as before. When she went down she found that she had won
the bet.

A week before two chickens had been stolen from her coop, and she had