"Doing? What is he doing, James?" demanded Mr. Bingle, surprised by
the youngster's declaration.

"You can't fool me. I bet he's out there dressing up to play Santa
Claus."

"Dear me!" exclaimed Mr. Bingle, blinking. The thought of crabbed
Uncle Joe taking on the habiliments of the genial saint was too much
for his imagination. It left him without the power to set James
straight in the matter, and Uncle Joe was immediately accepted as
Santy by the expectant Sykeses, all of whom revealed a tremendous
interest in the avuncular absentee. They even appeared to be properly
apprehensive, and crowded a little closer to the knees of the grown-
ups, all the while eyeing the door at the upper end of the room.

Melissa's involuntary snort was not enlightening to the children, but
it served as a spur to Mr. Bingle, who abruptly gave over being
sentimental and set about the pleasant task of distributing the
packages on the table. Hilarity took the place of a necessary reserve,
and before one could say Jack Robinson the little sitting-room was as
boisterous a place as you'd find in a month's journey and no one would
have suspected that Mr. and Mrs. Bingle were eating their hearts out
because the noisy crew belonged to the heaven-blest Mrs. Sykes and not
to them.

Ten o'clock came. Mr. and Mrs. Bingle sat side by side in front of the
fireplace, her hand in his. The floor was littered with white tissue
paper, red ribbons, peanut hulls and other by-products of festivity;
the rugs were scuffled up and hopelessly awry; chairs were out of
their accustomed places--two or three of them no longer stood upon