He gave a scornful laugh.
"Oh, that _rot_! You don't believe _that_ rot, do you?"
"Rot?" she repeated indignantly. "Why, it's _true_--_true_ as _true_!
A boy told me wot had hanged his stocking up by the chimney an' in the morning it was full of things an' they was jus' the things wot he'd wrote on a bit of paper an' thrown up the chimney to this 'ere Christmas chap."
"Only _kids_ believe that rot," persisted William. "I left off believin' it years and _years_ ago!"
Her face grew pink with the effort of convincing him.
"But the boy _told_ me, the boy wot got things from this 'ere chap wot comes down chimneys. An' I've wrote wot I want an' sent it up the chimney. Don't you think I'll get it?"
William looked down at her. Her blue eyes, big with apprehension, were fixed on him, her little rosy lips were parted. William's heart softened.
"I dunno," he said doubtfully. "You might, I s'pose. What d'you want for Christmas?"
"You won't tell if I tell you?"
"No."
"Not to no one?"
"No."
"Say, 'Cross me throat.'"
William complied with much interest and stored up the phrase for future use.
"Well," she sank her voice very low and spoke into his ear.
"Dad's comin' out Christmas Eve!"
She leant back and watched him, anxious to see the effect of this stupendous piece of news. Her face expressed pride and delight, William's merely bewilderment.
"Comin' out?" he repeated. "Comin' out of where?"
Her expression changed to one of scorn.
"_Prison_, of course! _Silly_!"
William was half offended, half thrilled.
"Well, I couldn't _know_ it was prison, could I? How could I _know_ it was prison without bein' told? It might of been out of anything.
What--" in hushed curiosity and awe--"what was he in prison for?"
"Stealin'."
Her pride was unmistakable. William looked at her in disapproval.
"Stealin's wicked," he said virtuously.
"Huh!" she jeered, "you _can't_ steal! You're too soft! _Softie_! You _can't_ steal without bein' copped fust go, you can't."
"I _could_!" he said indignantly. "And, any way, he got copped di'n't he? or he'd not of been in prison, _so there_!"
"He di'n't get copped fust go. It was jus' a sorter mistake, he said.
He said it wun't happen again. He's a jolly good stealer. The cops said he was and _they_ oughter know."
"Well," said William changing the conversation, "what d'you want for Christmas?"
"I wrote it on a bit of paper an' sent it up the chimney," she said confidingly. "I said I di'n't want no toys nor sweeties nor nuffin'. I said I only wanted a nice supper for Dad when he comes out Christmas Eve. We ain't got much money, me an' Mother, an' we carn't get 'im much of a spread, but if this 'ere Christmas chap sends one fer 'im, it'll be--_fine_!"
Her eyes were dreamy with ecstasy. William stirred uneasily on his seat.
"I tol' you it was _rot_," he said. "There isn't any Father Christmas.
It's jus' an' ole tale folks tell you when you're a kid, an' you find out it's not true. He won't send no supper jus' cause he isn't anythin'. He's jus' nothin'--jus' an ole tale----"
"Oh, shut _up!_" William turned sharply at the sound of the shrill voice from the bed within the room. "Let the kid 'ave a bit of pleasure lookin' forward to it, can't yer? It's little enough she 'as, anyway."
William arose with dignity.
"All right," he said. "Go'-bye."
He strolled away down the street.
"_Softie!_"
It was a malicious sweet little voice.
"_Swank_!"
William flushed but forbore to turn round.
That evening he met the little girl from next door in the road outside her house.
"Hello, Joan!"
"Hello, William!"
In these blue eyes there was no malice or mockery. To Joan William was a god-like hero. His very wickedness partook of the divine.
"Would you--would you like to come an' make a snow man in our garden, William?" she said tentatively.
William knit his brows.
"I dunno," he said ungraciously. "I was jus' kinder thinkin'."
She looked at him silently, hoping that he would deign to tell her his thoughts, but not daring to ask. Joan held no modern views on the subject of the equality of the sexes.