John Carstairs needed no second invitation. He turned to the open drawer and took out the next paper. It was a copy of a will. The farm and business had been left to William, but one half of it was to be held in trust for his brother. The man read it and then he crushed the paper in his hand.

"And that, too, might have saved me. My G.o.d!" he cried, "I've been a drunken blackguard. I've gone down to the very depths. I have been in State's prison. I was, I am, a thief, but I never would have withheld a dying man's forgiveness from his son. I never would have kept a poor wretch who was crazy with shame and who drank himself into crime out of his share of the property."

Animated by a certain fell purpose, he leaped across the room and seized the pistol.

"Yes, and I have you now!" he cried. "I'll make you pay."

He levelled the weapon at his brother with a steady hand.

"What are you doin' to do wif that pistol?" said young John William, curiously looking up from his stocking, while Helen cried out. The little woman acted the better part. With rare intuition she came quickly and took the left hand of the man and patted it gently. For one thing, her father was not afraid, and that rea.s.sured her. John Carstairs threw the pistol down again. William Carstairs had never moved.

"Now," he said, "let me explain."

"Can you explain away this?"

"I can. Father's will was not opened until the day after you left. As G.o.d is my judge I did not know he had written to you. I did not know he had left anything to you. I left no stone unturned in an endeavour to find you. I employed the best detectives in the land, but we found no trace of you whatever. Why, John, I have only been sorry once that I let you go that night, that I spoke those words to you, and that has been all the time."

"And where does this come from?" said the man, flinging his arm up and confronting the magnificent room.

"It came from the old farm. There was oil on it and I sold it for a great price. I was happily married. I came here and have been successful in business. Half of it all is yours."

"I won't take it."

"John," said William Carstairs, "I offered you money once and you struck it out of my hand. You remember?"

"Yes."

"What I am offering you now is your own. You can't strike it out of my hand. It is not mine, but yours."

"I won't have it," protested the man. "It's too late. You don't know what I've been, a common thief. 'Crackerjack' is my name. Every policeman and detective in New York knows me."

"But you've got a little Helen, too, haven't you?" interposed the little girl with wisdom and tact beyond her years.

"Yes."

"And you said she was very poor and had no Christmas."

"Yes."

"For her sake, John," said William Carstairs. "Indeed you must not think you have been punished alone. I have been punished, too. I'll help you begin again. Here"--he stepped closer to his brother--"is my hand."

The other stared at it uncomprehendingly.

"There is nothing in it now but affection. Won't you take it?"

Slowly John Carstairs lifted his hand. His palm met that of his elder brother. He was so hungry and so weak and so overcome that he swayed a little. His head bowed, his body shook and the elder brother put his arm around him and drew him close.

Into the room came William Carstairs' wife. She, too, had at last been aroused by the conversation, and, missing her husband, she had thrown a wrapper about her and had come down to seek him.

"We tame down to find Santy Claus," burst out young John William, at the sight of her, "and he's been here, look muvver."

Yes, Santa Claus had indeed been there. The boy spoke better than he knew.

"And this," said little Helen eagerly, pointing proudly to her new acquaintance, "is a friend of his, and he knows papa and he's got a little Helen and we're going to give her a Merry Christmas."

William Carstairs had no secrets from his wife. With a flash of womanly intuition, although she could not understand how he came to be there, she divined who this strange guest was who looked a pale, weak picture of her strong and splendid husband, and yet she must have final a.s.surance.

"Who is this gentleman, William?" she asked quietly, and John Carstairs was forever grateful to her for her word that night.

"This," said William Carstairs, "is my father's son, my brother, who was dead and is alive again, and was lost and is found."

And so, as it began with the beginning, this story ends with the ending of the best and most famous of all the stories that were ever told.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

ON CHRISTMAS GIVING

[Ill.u.s.tration]

_Being a Word of Much Needed Advice_

Christmas is the birthday of our Lord, upon which we celebrate G.o.d's ineffable gift of Himself to His children. No human soul has ever been able to realize the full significance of that gift, no heart has ever been glad enough to contain the joy of it, and no mind has ever been wise enough to express it. Nevertheless we powerfully appreciate the blessing and would fain convey it fitly. Therefore to commemorate that great gift the custom of exchanging tokens of love and remembrance has grown until it has become well nigh universal. This is a day in which we ourselves crave, as never at any other time, happiness and peace for those we love and that ought to include everybody, for with the angelic message in our ears it should be impossible to hate any one on Christmas day however we may feel before or after.

But despite the best of wills almost inevitably Christmas in many instances has created a burdensome demand. Perhaps by the method of exclusion we shall find out what Christmas should be. It is not a time for extravagance, for ostentation, for vulgar display, it is possible to purchase pleasure for someone else at too high a price to ourselves. To paraphrase Polonius, "Costly thy gift as thy purse can buy, rich but not expressed in fancy, for the gift oft proclaims the man." In making presents observe three princ.i.p.al facts; the length of your purse, the character of your friend, and the universal rule of good taste. Do not plunge into extravagance from which you will scarcely recover except in months of nervous strain and desperate financial struggle. On the other hand do not be mean and n.i.g.g.ardly in your gifts. Oh, not that; avoid selfishness at Christmas, if at no other time. Rather no gift at all than a grudging one. Let your offerings represent yourselves and your affections. Indeed if they do not represent you, they are not gifts at all. "The gift without the giver is bare."

And above all banish from your mind the principle of reciprocity. The _lex talionis_ has no place in Christmas giving. Do not think or feel that you must give to someone because someone gave to you. There is no barter about it. You give because you love and without a thought of return. Credit others with the same feeling and be governed thereby. I know one upon whose Christmas list there are over one hundred and fifty people, rich and poor, high and low, able and not able. That man would be dismayed beyond measure if everyone of those people felt obliged to make a return for the Christmas remembrances he so gladly sends them.

In giving remember after all the cardinal principle of the day. Let your gift be an expression of your kindly remembrance, your gentle consideration, your joyful spirit, your spontaneous grat.i.tude, your abiding desire for peace and goodwill toward men. Hunt up somebody who needs and who without you may lack and suffer heart hunger, loneliness, and disappointment.

Nor is Christmas a time for gluttonous eating and drinking. To gorge one's self with quant.i.ties of rich and indigestible food is not the n.o.blest method of commemorating the day. The rules and laws of digestion are not abrogated upon the Holy day. These are material cautions, the day has a spiritual significance of which material manifestations are, or ought to be, outward and visible expressions only.

Christmas is one of the great days of obligation in the Church year, then as at Easter if at no other time, Christians should gather around the table of the Lord, kneeling before G.o.d's altar in the ministering of that Holy Communion which unites them with the past, the present, and the future--the communion of the saints of G.o.d's Holy Church with His Beloved Son. Then and thus in body, soul, and spirit we do truly partic.i.p.ate in the privilege and blessing of the Incarnation, then and there we receive that strength which enables everyone of us to become factors in the great extension of that marvellous occurrence throughout the ages and throughout the world.

Let us therefore on this Holy Natal Day, from which the whole world dates its time, begin on our knees before that altar which is at once manger, cross, throne. Let us join thereafter in holy cheer of praise and prayer and exhortation and Christmas carol, and then let us go forth with a Christmas spirit in our hearts resolved to communicate it to the children of men, and not merely for the day but for the future. To make the right use of these our privileges, this it is to save the world.

In this spirit, therefore, so far as poor, fallible human nature permits him to realize it and exhibit it, the author wishes all his readers which at present comprise his only flock--

A MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

IT WAS THE SAME CHRISTMAS MORNING