The Old Man glibly repeated what was evidently a familiar formula, that
if Johnny would wait until he struck it rich in the tunnel he'd have
lots of money, etc., etc.

"Yes," said Johnny, "but you don't. And whether you strike it or I win
it, it's about the same. It's all luck. But it's mighty cur'o's about
Chrismiss,--ain't it? Why do they call it Chrismiss?"

Perhaps from some instinctive deference to the overhearing of his
guests, or from some vague sense of incongruity, the Old Man's reply was
so low as to be inaudible beyond the room.

"Yes," said Johnny, with some slight abatement of interest, "I've heerd
o' HIM before. Thar, that'll do, dad. I don't ache near so bad as I did.
Now wrap me tight in this yer blanket. So. Now," he added in a muffled
whisper, "sit down yer by me till I go asleep." To assure himself of
obedience, he disengaged one hand from the blanket and, grasping his
father's sleeve, again composed himself to rest.

For some moments the Old Man waited patiently. Then the unwonted
stillness of the house excited his curiosity, and without moving from
the bed, he cautiously opened the door with his disengaged hand, and
looked into the main room. To his infinite surprise it was dark and
deserted. But even then a smouldering log on the hearth broke, and by
the upspringing blaze he saw the figure of Dick Bullen sitting by the
dying embers.

"Hello!"