Georgie had gone to bed that Christmas Eve with a well-defined plan in his small head.He knew what he intended doing and how he meant to do it.The execution of this plan depended, first of all, upon his not falling asleep, and, as he was much too excited to be in the least sleepy, he found no great difficulty in carrying out this part of his scheme.
He had heard the conversation accompanying Mr.Cobb's unexpected entrance and had waited anxiously to ask concerning the visitor's identity.When assured by his sister that Santa had not arrived ahead of time he settled down again to wait, as patiently as he could, for the "grown-ups" to retire.
So he waited and waited.The clock struck ten and then eleven.
Georgie rose, tiptoed to his door and listened.There were no sounds except those of the storm.Then, still on tiptoe, the boy crept along the hall to the front stairs, down these stairs and into the living-room.The fire in the "airtight" stove showed red behind the isinglass panes, and the room was warm and comfortable.
Georgie did not hesitate; his plan was complete to the minutest details.By the light from the stove he found his way to the sofa which stood against the wall on the side of the room opposite the windows.There was a heavy fringe on the sofa which hung almost to the floor.The youngster lay flat upon the floor and crept under the fringe and beneath the sofa.There he lay still.Aunt Thankful and Captain Obed and Imogene had said there was a Santa Claus; the boy in South Middleboro had said there was none; Georgie meant to settle the question for himself this very night.This was his plan: to hide in that living-room and wait until Santa came--if he came at all.
It was lonely and dark and stuffy under the sofa and the beat of the rain and the howling gale outside were scary sounds for a youngster no older than he.But Georgie was plucky and determined beyond his years.He was tempted to give up and scamper upstairs again, but he fought down the temptation.If no Santa Claus came then he should know the Leary boy was right.If he did come then--well then, his only care must be not to be caught watching.
Twelve o'clock struck; Georgie's eyes were closing.He blinked owl-like under the fringe at the red glow behind the isinglass.
His head, pillowed upon his outstretched arms, felt heavy and drowsy.He must keep awake, he MUST.So, in order to achieve this result, he began to count the ticks of the big clock in the corner.
One--two--three--and so on up to twenty-two.He lost count then;his eyes closed, opened, and closed again.His thoughts drifted away from the clock, drifted to--to...
His eyes opened again.There was a sound in the room, a strange, new sound.No, it was not in the room, it was in the dining-room.
He heard it again.Someone in that dining-room was moving cautiously.The door between the rooms was open and he could hear the sound of careful footsteps.
Georgie was frightened, very much frightened.He was seized with a panic desire to scream and rush up-stairs.He did not scream, but he thrust one bare foot from beneath the sofa.Then he hastily drew it in again, for the person in the dining-room, whoever he or she might be, was coming toward the door.
A moment later there was a scratching sound and the living-room was dimly illumined by the flare of a match.The small and trembling watcher beneath the sofa shut his eyes in fright.When he opened them the lamp upon the center table was lighted and Santa Claus himself was standing by the table peering anxiously about.
It was Santa--Georgie made up his mind to that immediately.There was the pack, the pack which the pictured Santa Claus always carried, to prove it, although in this instance the pack was but a small and rather dirty bundle.There were other points of difference between the real Santa and the pictures; for instance, instead of being clothed entirely in furs, this one's apparel seemed to be, for the most part, rags, and soaked and dripping rags at that.But he did wear a fur cap, a mangy one which looked like a drowned cat, and his beard, though ragged like his garments, was all that might be desired.Yes, it was Santa Claus who had come, just as they said he would, although--and Georgie's doubts were so far justified--he had NOT come down the living-room chimney.
Santa was cold, it seemed, for his first move was to go to the stove and stand by it, shivering and warming his hands.During this operation he kept looking fearfully about him and, apparently, listening.Then, to Georgie's chagrin and disappointment, he took up the lamp and tiptoed into the dining-room again.However, he had not gone for good, for his pack was still upon the floor where he had dropped it.And a few minutes later he reappeared, his pockets bulging and in his free hand the remains of half a ham, which Georgie himself had seen Aunt Thankful put away in the pantry.
He replaced the lamp on the table and from his pockets extracted the end of a loaf of bread, several doughnuts and a half-dozen molasses cookies.Then he seated himself in a chair by the stove and proceeded to eat, hungrily, voraciously, first the ham and bread and then the doughnuts and cookies.And as he ate he looked and listened, occasionally starting as if in alarm.
At last, when he had eaten everything but the ham bone, he rose to his feet and turned his attention to the pack upon the floor.This was what Georgie had been waiting for, and as Santa fumbled with the pack, his back to the sofa, the boy parted the fringe and peered at him with eager expectation.
The pack, according to every story Georgie had been told, should have been bulging with presents; but if the latter were there they were under more old clothes, even worse than those the Christmas saint was wearing.Santa Claus hurriedly pawed over the upper layer and then took out a little package wrapped in tissue paper.
Untying the string, he exposed a small pasteboard box and from this box he lifted some cotton and then--a ring.
