Loosening his
snow-shoes, he flung them on the step and came in, a foxtail
dangling from his fur cap.
He shook hands with Polly and her mother, and lifted Paul to the
ceiling. "Hello, young man!" said he. "If one is four, how many
are two?"
"If you're speaking of new boots," said the widow, "one is at least
fifteen."
The school teacher made no reply, but stood a moment looking down
at the boy.
"It's a cold day," said Polly.
"I like it," said the teacher, lifting his broad shoulders and
smiting them with his hands. "God has been house cleaning. The
dome of the sky is all swept and dusted. There isn't a cobweb
anywhere. Santa Claus come?"
"Yes," said the younger children, who made a rush for their gifts
and laid them on chairs before him.
"Grand old chap!" said he, staring thoughtfully at the flannel cat
in his hands. "Any idea who it is?"
"Can't make out," said Mrs. Vaughn; "very singular man."
"Generous, too," the teacher added. "That's the best cat I ever
saw, Tom. If I had my way, the cats would all be made of flannel.
Miss Polly, what did you get?"
"This," said Polly, handing him the locket.
"Beautiful!" said he, turning it in his hand.
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