Nobody knew where Teddy Pegram came from or why the man ordained to settle down in Little Silver. He had no relations round about and couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell his new neighbours what had brought him along. But he bided a bit with Mrs. Ford, the policeman’s wife, as a lodger, and then, when he’d sized up the place and found it suited him, he took a tumble-down, four-room cottage at the back-side of the village and worked upon it himself and soon had the place to his liking. A most handy little man he was and could turn his skill in many directions. And he’d do odd jobs for the neighbours and show a good bit of kindness to the children. He lived alone and looked after himself, for he could cook and sew like a woman at least like the clever ones. In fact there didn’t seem nothing he couldn’t do. And his knowledge extended above crafts, for he’d got a bit of learning also and he’d talk with Johns at the shop-of-all-sorts about business, or with Samual Mutters, the chemist, about patent medicines, or with butcher or baker concerning their jobs, or with policemen about crime, and be worth attending to on any subject.

His pleasure, however, was sporting, and not until he’d dwelt among us a good bit did a measure of doubt in that matter creep into our praise of the man.

Round about fifty he might have been a clean-shaved, active chap, five feet three inches high, and always bursting with energy. He had grizzled hair and a blue chin and eyes so bright and black as shoe-buttons. A hard mouth and lips always pursed up over his yellow teeth; but though it looked a cruel sort of mouth, nought cruel ever came out of it save in the matter of politics. He was a red radical and didn’t go to church, yet against that you could set his all-round good-will and friendship and his uncommon knack of lending a hand to anybody in his power to serve. But he was up against the Government, and would talk so fierce of a night sometimes at the ‘Barley Sheaf’ that Ned Chown, the landlord, who was a true blue, didn’t think so well on Mr. Pegram as the most of us. Friends he made, but hadn’t much use for the women, though he declared himself as not against them. He was a bachelor-minded man by nature, and yet, what ain’t so common in that sort, he liked childer and often had a halfpenny in his pocket for one of his pets.

Mrs. Ford, however, he regarded as a great and trustworthy friend, and her husband also, for, from the time he lodged with them, they all agreed uncommon well, and Joseph Ford, the policeman, was high in his praises of Teddy from the first. He happened to be a very radical thinker himself, did Joseph, but, as became his calling, put law and order first; and you felt that the newcomer agreed on that matter and didn’t want to do anything contrary to the constitution, but just advance the welfare of the under-dog by proper means; so Joseph said there was no fault in the man and praised his opinions.

In truth Teddy Pegram appeared to be a very great stickler for the law and held it in high respect so he always declared and reckoned that those who put themselves within the reach of it deserved all they got. He might say doubtful things to Joseph Ford’s ear now and again, but nought the policeman could fairly quarrel with, because both Joseph and Minnie, his wife, owed Teddy a bit by now, and, doting on their little son as they did, felt a bit weak to the man in that quarter.

Their only child was six years old, and the amazing beauty of young Joey Ford made him many friends beside Mr. Pegram. He was one of they children that look too good and too beautiful for this world, and you feel that, by rights, they did ought to grow a pair of wings and fly away to heaven. And for that matter, old Jane Marks, who was famous for seeing and pointing out the dark side of all human hopes, warned Minnie more’n once against putting her whole trust in the beautiful boy.

“To my eye there’s early death looking out of his eyes,” Jane Marks would say. “Such blue eyes belong to the sky, Minnie, and there’s more to it than his angel face, because the child’s so parlous good that it ain’t straining truth to say the Old Adam be left out of him. And granted that, this vale of tears is no place for such a boy. Heaven’s his home,” Mrs. Marks would say, “and so you must fortify yourself for an early loss.”

Minnie didn’t worry, however, because her son was a strong lad and sturdy as well as lovely. He’d gotten his father’s fine shape and his mother’s gentle heart, and though good as gold, he weren’t a Mary-boy, as we say one of them gentle, frightened childer who can’t let go their mother’s apron. That sort, if they grow up, turn into indoor man-servants and ain’t very powerful as a rule in their bodies or intellects; but Joey was a brave young lad enough and had already fixed on his father’s profession for his own.

And Teddy Pegram took most powerful to him and made him many a game and many a clever toy. He’d walk with the child to the woods sometimes and teach him the ways of birds and beasts, and show him how to catch ’em; for Ted was a rare sportsman and deeply skilled in all the branches of it. And ’twas his bent in that direction led to the extraordinary affair of this tale; though it was a good year before the crash came and for a long time no cloud arose to darken his steadfast friendship with the Fords. You might say they was more than friends, for Teddy explained to the young couple that he stood alone in the world, without chick or child of his own, and felt very wishful to have some special interest in his fellow creatures.

“I followed the sea,” he told them once, “and that’s why I’m so handy all round. But my passion be sporting, and now, having earned a little competence, I’ve retired from the ocean and don’t want to hear nor yet see it no more. And you folk suit me and I suit you, so I’ll put you first, and if all goes well in the time to come, I dare say your lad, if not yourselves, will be the gainers.”

They was very pleased, of course, and Minnie showed it by fussing over the man a bit and looking after his linen now and then and doing such chores for him as he’d let her do; but he was very independent and, finding he weren’t over anxious for her and her husband to be in his house, though always very willing to come to hers, she gave over her attempts to befriend him in that direction. Little Joey, however, was always welcome and he’d often drop in on the old sailor and never in vain. Teddy was fond of sporting dogs and he’d got a lurcher bitch from somewhere, and when she bore a litter, six weeks before Christmas, he had the thought to give Joey the best of the bunch. When they was a fortnight old, he drowned all but one, and on Christmas Eve, after the child was to bed and asleep, he took the little dog over and stopped and had a drink and explained his purpose.

’Twas strange to ’em to hear the hard-faced, grim-looking chap talk so tender of their only one; but they liked it well enough and fell in with his wish. He’d promised to eat his Christmas dinner along with them and Joey; but the pup was to come as a rare surprise next morning, and though Minnie Ford didn’t much hold with a young dog about her spick and span home, she couldn’t withstand the little silky creature, nor yet Teddy’s wish to pleasure the child.

“You do this, Minnie,” he said, for he called the family by their Christian names by now. “You keep the dog till dawn and then you put him in the stocking, what’s hanging at the foot of Joey’s bed, along with your own gifts afore you call him. Then first thing he sees when he rises up to grab his toys will be the little dog atop of all the rest.”

Which Minnie promised to do and did do, and Joey toddled over the minute after he’d swallowed his breakfast to tell Mr. Pegram how ‘Santa Claus’ had sent him the wonderfullest little dinky dog ever was seen.

“I’m the Santa Claus that sent it, my lovely cherub,” said Teddy, kissing his beautiful face; and ‘Santa Claus’ he was to Joey from that day forward. It pleased the man well to be so called, and he got the nickname in Joseph Ford’s house and became ‘Santa Claus’ to all of ’em.

“There’s much in a name,” said Teddy, “and more in that one than you may guess. For I was mate of a ship so called once on a time and had some of my best voyages in her.”

The friendship tightened after that Christmas and it weren’t till many a long month later and the fall of another year that anything happened to strain it.

They had all got to be so friendly as you please and then in the ’Barley Sheaf’ one day, Joseph Ford heard Ned Chown laughing with a customer or two, and, afore they knew it, he picked up a word. He didn’t let ’em guess he’d heard, however, but ordered his beer and spoke of something else, which they was very willing to do; for Joseph happened to be a mighty smart officer, and secret subjects sometimes got mentioned that weren’t meant for his ear.

It happened that poaching was in the air a good bit just then, for the big Oakshott covers ran half a mile from Little Silver and there had been a lot more trouble than usual that winter and the old head-keeper dismissed and a younger and sterner man engaged from up North. But the robbery went on and there’s no doubt a lot of pheasants slipped away to an unknown market. Joseph Ford was so keen as the game-keepers to lay the rogues by the heels, for the police had heard a few hard words from the Lord of the Manor on the subject; but the general opinion ran that some clever rascals from far ways off in the South Hams were responsible; while the new keeper from Yorkshire, who had a large experience of poachers’ tricks, said most steadfast that in his judgment it was local men with the advantages of being on the spot. They raked the poulterers in three market towns round about, but all gave a very good and straight account of their birds; and the mystery interested us a lot, for, of course, Little Silver had its doubtful customers like every other place.

And what Joseph Ford had heard, with a smothered laugh or two, was the name of his fast friend, Teddy Pegram, along with the disappearance of the Oakshott game. He gave no sign, but it hit him with a good bit of force, because he’d marked one or two things himself that made him restless, and he knew Teddy didn’t pretend any great sorrow to think the pheasants were being stole. The man loved sport, and farmers round about let him shoot their rabbits and partridges also; but he knew very well pheasants were different, though he always argued against all game laws. So Joseph counted to give Teddy a word in season on the quiet, and he done so.

“I heard your name whispered in the public-house a few nights agone,” he said, “and I didn’t like it too well, Pegram, because they named it along with this here poaching. They little thought I’d heard, of course, and I didn’t undeceive ’em, but there ’tis and I’d avoid the appearance of evil if I was you and bide in on moony nights, which we know very well you do not.”

The other showed much surprise to hear such a thing. He was playing along with Joey and the little dog at the time, and teaching the puppy to learn tricks. The creature was full of brains, as mongrels are apt to be, and Joey loved it dearly, and loved the giver only less. He’d called it ‘Choc,’ because the puppy loved chocolates so well as Joey himself, and the dog had grown to be his dearest treasure.

Well, Teddy gave over his games now and stood up and showed a great deal of annoyance. His bead-black eyes flashed and his jaw stood out, as it always did when he was vexed.

“Too bad!” he said, “and if I knew who the man was, I’d have him up for libel I reckon. I may or may not agree about the damn birds, but I wouldn’t have made a policeman my fast friend in this place if I weren’t a straight man, and I’m a good bit surprised, Joseph, that you thought it worth your while to name such a thing to me. And I’ll go out of a moony night when and where I please so long as it’s a free country. So now then!”

He sulked a bit and didn’t come to see the Fords for a week, though Joey was over often enough to see him, and Joseph felt rather interested to mark how the little man had taken it. But then ‘Santa Claus’ made friends again and came into Sunday supper and brought a pheasant along with him!

He made a lot of fun about it and pretended as he’d shot it in the coverts over night; and presently he told Joseph that, if he wanted to run him in, he’d best to go to Mercer’s at Newton Abbot first and find out if he’d bought it all decent and in order, or if he had not. So the matter dropped, and all was firm friends again till the blow fell.

Poaching went on, and Joseph noted that Teddy was apt to be from home a bit and would often go away for a day or two. And the new head-keeper, who was sleepless on the job, traced where a car had come across one of the drives in Oakshott’s by night, for the wheels had scored the grass; and where the thing had stood was a dead bird the blackguards had overlooked.

The pheasant had been shot roosting and an air-gun was the weapon, for they found the slug in it.

And the next thing was that just afore the end of the season, Joseph Ford set out to lend a hand with the job on his own, unknown to anybody but the head-keeper. He worked out of his business hours and off the regular policeman’s beats, and the keeper, who now felt pretty sure one of his own under-men was in it, and he’d got treachery to deal with, put Joseph up to a secret plan. Oakshott’s is a huge place and the six keepers kept there couldn’t be everywhere; but an unknown seventh man might steal a march on the rogues and lie hid when ’twas given out the others were somewhere else. And that was done by Joseph, with a very startling result.

The season had near reached an end, when on a quiet moonlight night in January, Joseph kept his third secret watch at the edge of the North Wood. He’d got there at dusk, being off duty at the time, and there he bided; and then, just after moonrise, he saw a dog slip past him within ten yards, and he knew the dog very well, and his heart sank.

Behind the lurcher came her master, and Teddy, with something in his hand that glinted, popped by, silent as a ghost and was gone into the covers.

But Joseph knew he’d be bound to come out on the high road, same way he went in, so he bided there and an hour passed and then twenty minutes more, and meantime the policeman heard the purr of a motor and saw a small car without lights draw up on the dark side of the lane twenty yards off. There was only one man in it and Joseph felt glad there weren’t more. He chanced Pegram for a minute then and nipped out on the driver just as he was lighting a cigarette. He proved to be a young fellow from so far off as Torquay, and he didn’t put up no fight whatever, feeling no fear on his own account. He was working for wages and doing what he was told, and he caved in at once and obeyed the policeman’s orders, that worse might not overtake him. So he sat tight and waited, and then Teddy Pegram and his dog and his air-gun crept out of the woods with a load of ten birds. They roosted in the spruce firs, you understand, and ’twas as easy to slay them as blackbeetles, for Teddy’s eyes, helped by the moon, marked ’em above his head quick enough.

Then Joseph Ford walked out from behind the car and the little man saw his games were ended, for Ford was a very powerful chap and could have eaten him if he’d wanted to do so.

But Teddy used his tongue for all it was worth, though at first he didn’t guess he was up against it.

“Lucky ’twas you,” he said. “If it had been your mate, I’d have met with a difficulty. Very smart, Joseph! You’ve bowled me out all right, so we’ll cry quits and least said soonest mended.”

But the policeman wasn’t in no mood like that.

“Come, Pegram,” he answered. “I’d sooner have took any man on earth but you, and you’ve put me in a cruel fix, and that’s all there is to it. Give me that air-gun and get in the car and say nought if you please.”

T’other had a lot to say, however. They talked for ten minutes, but the poacher couldn’t move the policeman, though he appealed to his friendship and so on. Then Joseph saw a look that he never had seen afore in the little man’s eyes and was startled, but not afeared. For a minute Teddy glared like a devil in the moonlight, and an awful evil expression fairly flooded his face.

“Think twice,” he said. “For God’s sake think twice, Ford, afore you do this. There’s a lot more to me than you know a lot I’ve thought to overcome suffering, misery, curses, disgrace. But if you take me to the ‘cooler’ to-night hear me on my oath: you’ll be sorry as long as you live, for I’m built that way.”

“I am sorry already,” answered Joseph, “I’m as sorry as any living man can be, and ’tis a bitter cruel thing for me that you’ve forced this upon me. I warned you most serious I done so and what more could I do? You’ve none to thank for this but yourself and you well know it. But my duty’s my duty, and I don’t break my policeman’s oath for you, or any man living.”

“You ain’t on duty to-night, however,” replied Teddy.

“A policeman’s always on duty,” said Ford, “and ’tis vain to threat or argue. I’ve got no choice.”

But the other did argue still, and when he saw he was done, he threatened also and said hard, terrible words. They went in one of Joseph’s ears and out of the other, of course, and he only wanted to get a painful job out of hand by now. So he cut it short, and in another minute pretty well lifted Teddy into the car and bade the driver carry ’em to Little Silver.

Pegram said no more after that, but a fiend glared out of his eyes as he stared on the other, and Joseph, though he’d seen some hard cases, said afterwards that he never wanted to look on such a wicked face again.

But the look was dead when they got to the police-station, and Ford tumbled his man into a cell, then handed the pheasants over to the Inspector and made his report.

There was a good deal of stir about it and some applause for the policeman when the Justices gave Teddy two months’ hard labour. And that was that. But what you may call the interesting part of the affair happened after, for when the two months was up, instead of selling his house and taking himself off to practise his games elsewhere, if Teddy Pegram didn’t return to Little Silver, meek as Moses, and a reformed character!

Poor Joey, when he heard his dearest friend was in trouble, had wept a lot of tears and took on very bad and even said hard things to his father for catching ‘Santa Claus’ and sending him to prison. But he’d got resigned to his loss, for two months is a long time in a child’s mind. And he’d walk every day to look at Pegram’s house and pet the poacher’s dog. ’Twas thought the creature ought to be shot, and the head-keeper at Oakshott’s, who knew the cleverness of the animal, was strong for it; but humanity be full of strange twists and the Squire himself it was who ordered the cur should live and be tended.

“Let the dog be there to welcome him back,” said the Squire in his easy way. “The dog’s done nothing but his duty and done it mighty well by all accounts.”

He was pleased, you see, because he’d got to the bottom of the mystery, and he had a great trustful faith in human nature and hoped that Teddy would turn from his bad ways after a taste of klink. And it certainly looked as if the good man was right.

Little Joey would often take ‘Choc’ to see his mother on her chain at Teddy’s house while the man was put away. And he’d carry the poor creature a tidy bone also when he could get one. And how long that two months was to the lurcher, who shall say? But one fine morning Pegram was back again, and he welcomed the child same as he’d already welcomed his dog, and Joey went back full of great joy to say as his friend was home once more and terrible pleased to see him. Which interested Joseph and Minnie Ford a good bit, for they guessed that they’d made a bitter and dangerous enemy in that quarter and little thought to see the man again. Yet he’d come back and, more wonderful still, afore he’d been home a week, he made bold to step in one night and shake their hands and say ’twas a very nice thing to be home in his own den a free man! They felt mazed to see him among ’em, so cheerful and full of talk as if he’d been away for a holiday. And Joseph wondered a lot and felt it on the tip of his tongue to name the past and express friendly hopes for the future. But he didn’t, and it weren’t till he saw ‘Santa Claus’ down to the gate on his way home, that the little chap spoke.

“Say nought and try to forget,” he said. “You done your duty and that’s all the best and worst of us can do. Be my friend, for I’ve got but few.”

Then he was gone, and Joseph woke to a surer trust in humanity and felt our common nature crying to him to believe it; while his own policeman’s nature warned him to do no such thing. He talked far into the night with his wife; but she was all for believing.

“Us be Christians,” said Minnie, “and well we know how the Lord works. He’s come to right thinking by chastisement, and his heart’s softened and never will I believe a man as loves the little ones like him be so very bad. He’s paid for what he done and, if he wants to forget and forgive, ’tis everybody’s place to do the same.”

“That sounds all right,” granted Joseph. “And who be I to say he’s not a repentant man? But you didn’t see his face, with ten devils staring out of his eyes, when I took him.”

“Us’ll watch and pray for him,” answered Minnie. “My heart tells me the poor man won’t fall again.”

And they left it at that and Minnie prayed and Joseph watched; and the woman triumphed over her husband a good bit as time went on, for Teddy Pegram never looked back so far as could be seen, until, little by little, even Joseph felt that his spell in the jug had changed Teddy to a member of society a good bit out of the common.

His friends reckoned that, when another autumn came, the strain would be too much and the old poacher might be found to fall; but, as Ned Chown pointed out, it weren’t very likely as Pegram would fall again in the same place.

“If he was minded to fall, he’d sling his hook and go and fall somewhere else, where he weren’t known,” he said, and indeed Teddy had made the same remark himself. He stuck to lawful sport and went his quiet way, until that happened which looked as though he might soon be minded to flit.

In the fall he sold his cottage to Ned Chown, who owned a few little dwellings already and was a great believer in the virtue of house property; but Pegram only let the inn-keeper have it on one condition and that was that he should be allowed to go on living in it while he chose to do so. He explained to Joseph Ford that he never meant to leave Little Silver; but that he was very poor and a thought pressed for money, and glad to have the value of the house in his pocket again.

So another year passed over ’em all, and the end of the strange business of ‘Santa Claus’ came on another Christmas Eve, when he dropped in to see the Fords and express his friendship and good wishes. They’d quite slipped back into the old, kindly understanding, and Joseph felt long since convinced that his stern dealing had been the salvation of the man a fact Teddy himself often declared, without shame. They cared for him a lot by now, and Minnie never tired of singing his praises, and the child never felt a day well spent if his friend didn’t come into it.

Joey was in bed and asleep before Pegram called in his character of ’Santa Claus’; but he’d not forgot his gift and produced a fine box of sweets, to be put on top of the child’s stocking along with a Christmas card. He looked in on sleeping Joey also and smiled to see the child in the land of dreams with his dog asleep beside him. And then he gave Minnie a gift also a piece of very fine cloth to make herself a gown. And he promised to come and eat his Christmas dinner along with them, which Joseph insisted he should do. Ford was on night duty at the time and he left the house with the old poacher and saw him to his own home, while good words passed between them. Then young Ford went to his beat and wondered as he walked at such a fine reformation, and felt proud of himself to think he’d had a hand in it. Yet, though seldom it came uppermost in his thoughts, by some chance, the ancient, awful look on Teddy’s face rose to his mind that Christmas Eve. Joseph had a theory, sure founded on Scripture, and he stoutly believed that the poacher had harboured a devil in him in the past.

“Yet now without a doubt it has been cast out,” thought Joseph, “and no man will ever see it look out of his eyes no more, because it have gone, thank God.”

His duty done he went home to rest; but the man’s sleep was broken just after peep-o’-day by the awfullest scream ever he heard.

His child it was. Joey slept in a little room alongside his parents and, of course, Minnie was up to him like a flash of lightning, with Joseph after her. He said at a later time that ‘Santa Claus’ had got in his dreams and he had suffered all night from a great uneasiness; but he was sleeping sound enough when, just after six o’clock, the child screamed and screamed again. And still he screamed when his mother got to him and his father followed after, stopping only to light a candle.

Poor Joey was out of bed with his mother’s arms round him when his father got there; and on the bed lay Teddy’s box of sweets scattered over the cover-lid, with the Christmas stocking dragged up also, but its contents not yet explored. The sweeties came first, and Joey had opened them and now he screamed and pointed and screamed again, but for the moment couldn’t speak. He pointed into one corner of his little cubby-hole, and then the tears came flooding his cheeks and he stopped screaming and clung to his mother and wept as if his heart would break.

Ford, policeman-like, saw it all instanter, and a curtain seemed to lift off his soul, and there glared the eyes of ‘Santa Claus’ into his mind’s eyes. In a second he put two and two together and understood why, deep in his brain that night, had hidden such a feeling of stark care.

“Have you touched they sweets?” he asked, shaking the little boy to make him attend. “Speak for your life, Joey! Have you ate one?”

Still the child couldn’t collect himself. He screamed again when his father shook him, and it was clear some fearful thing had overtook him; but his grief didn’t rise from no pain of body, and in truth the answer to Joseph’s question lay before his eyes, if he’d but understood the truth. No scream would Joey have screamed, nor tear shed, if he’d helped himself from the box; but ’twas a case when a big heart saved a little body, for Joey had put another creature before himself and the first sweetie out of the gift had went to his pup. ’Twas chocolates ‘Santa Claus’ had left, and when the dog’s jaws closed upon his little master’s gift, he gave one jump and leapt off the bed and was stone dead in three seconds before the child got to him.

All that the parents presently learned from the shaking babe, and the moment Joseph grasped the truth, he left his wife to praise God and got on his clothes and ran without ceasing to Teddy Pegram’s house. And in no Christmas temper did he run neither, for he’d have well liked, in his fury, to rob the hangman of a job. The size of the intended crime swept over him in all its horror as he measured the past and remembered all that the poacher had said and done; and his feet very near gave under him to think of what a fellow creature can harbour hid from every other human eye.

But he wasn’t overmuch surprised to find Teddy Pegram didn’t answer the door, nor yet to discover the place was all unlocked. He doubted not that his awful enemy had departed overnight, and it came out presently that the last at Little Silver to see Pegram was Ford himself on the previous evening.

So he left it at that, then, and went home and joined his wife in blessing the Maker for His mercy and calming the sorrows and terrors of their little lad.

An unrestful Christmas for the local police, and the countryside was soon busy over Teddy Pegram, while next day the box of chocolates received attention and was found so full of venom as the poisoner could pack ’em.

A nine days’ wonder and no more, for though the police was so placed they could soon learn a lot they didn’t know about the would-be murderer, the wretch himself escaped ’em that time. But a very interesting thing threw light, and when Teddy’s cottage came to be hunted over, though not a stick offered to show who he might be, or where he might have sped, some fingerprints was took by the police and they got a good picture off an empty bottle in a cupboard and another off a frying-pan. And so it got to be understood that ‘Santa Claus’ was a famous criminal, who had come to Little Silver straight from seven years of penal servitude for manslaughter and had a record so long as from Newgate to Prince town. And he was sixty-three years old, or so they thought.

They traced him back to London and lost him there; but five years afterwards Hiram Linklater, for that was his famous name, swung in earnest for murder of a woman in the Peak of Derbyshire. Always for rural districts he was and a great one for the wonders of nature. He told the chaplain of his adventures at Little Silver, and expressed penitence afore he dropped. He also said that nothing in his whole career had given him more pleasure than to hear how his Christmas Eve effort down in Devonshire had miscarried after all. And he pointed out how, by the will of God, his own gift to the little boy had saved him!

And he was said to have made a brave end; which no doubt ain’t as difficult as people imagine.

’Tis the like of Hiram Linklater I reckon, as keep up the sentiment of approval for capital punishment; because even in the softest head, it must be granted that a baby-poisoner is the sort that’s better under the earth than on it.