Richard Gray’s luck had changed.  Fur was plentiful—­more plentiful than it had been for years—­and he was hopeful that by spring he would have enough to pay all his back debt at the company store and be on his feet again.  Two days before Christmas he reached home in high good humour, with the pelts he had caught, and displayed them with satisfaction to Mrs. Gray and Emily—­beautiful black otters, martens, minks and beavers with a few lynx and a couple of red foxes.

“I’ll be stayin’ home for a fortnight t’ get some more wood cut,” he announced.  “How’ll that suit th’ maid?”

“Oh!  Tis fine!” cried the child, clapping her hands with delight.  “An’ Bob’ll be home for the New Year an’ we’ll all be havin’ a fine time together before you an’ Bob goes away again.”

“In th’ mornin’ I’ll have t’ be goin’ t’ th’ Post wi’ th’ dogs an’ komatik t’ get some things.  Is there anything yer wantin’, Mary?” he asked his wife.

“We has plenty o’ flour an’ molasses an’ tea; but,” she suggested, “th’ next day’s Christmas, Richard.”

“Aye, I’m thinkin’ o’ un an’ I may be seein’ Santa Claus t’ tell un what a rare fine maid Emily’s been an’ ask un not t’ be forgettin’ she.  He’s been wonderful forgetful not t’ be comin’ round last Christmas an’ th’ Christmas before I’ll have t’ be remindin’ he.”

Emily looked up wistfully.

“An’ you are thinkin’ he’ll have time t’ come here wi’ all th’ places t’ go to?  Oh, I’m wishin’ he would!”

“I’ll just make un—­I’ll just make un,” said her father.  “I’ll not let un pass my maid every time.”

Emily was awake early the next morning—­before daybreak.  Her father was about to start for the Post, and the dogs were straining and jumping in the traces.  She knew this because she could hear their expectant howls,—­and the dogs never howled just like that under any other circumstances.  Then she heard “hoo-ett—­hoo-ett” as he gave them the word to be off and, in the distance, as he turned them down the brook to the right his shouts of “ouk! ouk! ouk!—­ouk! ouk! ouk!”

It was a day of delightful expectancy.  Tomorrow would be Christmas and perhaps—­perhaps—­Santa Claus would come!  She chattered all day to her mother about it, wondering if he would really come and what he would bring her.

Finally, just at nightfall she heard her father shouting at the dogs outside and presently he came in carrying his komatik box, his beard weighted with ice and his clothing white with hoar frost.

“Well,” announced he, as he put down the box and pulled his adikey over his head, “I were seein’ Santa Claus th’ day an’ givin’ he a rare scoldin’ for passin’ my maid by these two year—­a rare scoldin’—­an’ I’m thinkin’ he’ll not be passin’ un by this Christmas.  He’ll not be wantin’ another such scoldin’.”

“Oh!” said Emily, “‘twere too bad t’ scold un.  He must be havin’ a wonderful lot o’ places t’ go to an’ he’s not deservin’ t’ be scolded now.  He’s sure doin’ th’ best he can—­I knows he’s doin’ th’ best he can.”