had a strong padlock put on the chicken house. Now the padlock was
pried open, and the chicken house was empty, and nine hens and a
rooster were gone. Mrs. Gratz stooped and entered the low gate and
surveyed the vacant chicken yard placidly. If they were gone, they
were gone.

"Such a Santy Claus!" she said good-naturedly. "I don't like such a
Santy Claus--taking away and not bringing! Purty soon he don't have
such a good name any more if he keeps up doing like this. People likes
the bringing Santy Claus. I guess they don't think much of the
taking-away business. He gets a bad name quick enough if he does this
much."

She turned to bend her head to look into the vacant chicken house and
stood still. She put out her foot and touched something her eyes had
lighted upon, and the thing moved. It was a purse of worn, black
leather, soaked by the drizzle, but still holding the bend that comes
to men's purses when worn long in a back trouser pocket. One end of
the purse was muddy and pressed deep into the soft soil where a heel
had tramped on it. Mrs. Gratz bent and picked it up.

There was nine hundred dollars in bills in the purse. Mrs. Gratz stood
still while she counted the bills, and as she counted her hands began
to tremble, and her knees shook, and she sank on the door-sill of the
chicken house and laughed until the tears rolled down her face.
Occasionally she stopped to wipe her eyes, and the flood of laughter
gradually died away into ripples of intermittent giggles that were
like sobs after sorrow. Mrs. Gratz had no great sense of humour, but
she could see the fun of finding nine hundred dollars. It was enough
to make her laugh, so she laughed.