THE GAY COCKADE
and the snow falling. As he passed the saint on the old church, it seemed to smile down at him. The towers and gables were sheeted with white. His footsteps made no sound on the padded streets.
He left the note at Whiting's door. He fancied that, as the footman held it open, he saw Marion shining on the stairs!
He was glad after that to get home and to bed, and to the warmth of his blanket. There was the warmth, too, of the wine.
In a little while he was asleep. On the table by his untidy bed was the box of biscuits and the bottle and the tin of tiny sausages.
If all went well he would feast like a lord on Christmas morning!
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