"The ship is safe in dock, and your sister
Nora is in Roxbury, at 99 Linwood Street!"
And a broad grin lighted his face as he spoke the words.
There was joy in every bed and at every door of the
five rooms. Then John hastily donned coat, cardigan, and
ulster. He persuaded Harrington to drink a cup of red-
hot tea which was brewing on the stove. While the good
fellow did so, and ate a St. Anne's bun, which Mrs.
McLaughlin produced in triumph, John was persuading
Hermann Gross, the expressman next door, to put the gray
into a light pung he had for special delivery. By the
time Harrington went to the door two lanterns were
flitting about in the snow-piled yard behind the two
houses.
Harrington assisted in yoking the gray. In five
minutes he and John were defying the gale as they sped
across the silent bridge, bound south to Roxbury. Poor
little Nora was asleep in the parlor on the sofa. She
had begged and begged that she need not be put to bed,
and by her side her protector sat reading about the
antarctic. But of a sudden Harrington reappeared.
Is it Santa Claus?
Indeed it is! Beard, hat, coat, all white with snow!
And Santa Claus has come for the best present he will
deliver that evening!
Dear little Nora is wrapped in sealskins and other
skins, mauds and astrakhan rugs. She has a hot brick at
her feet, and Pompey, the dog, is made to lie over them,
so John McLaughlin No.
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