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Then there is a Christmas tree somewhere, with a doll on top, or a stupid old Santa Claus, and children dancing and screaming over bonbons and toys that break, and shiny things that are of no use. Really, mamma, I've had so many Christmases all alike that I don't think I can bear another one." And Effie laid herself flat on the sofa, as if the mere idea was too much for her.
But nothing gave me so great pleasure as the poor children of Los Angeles at Christmas time when I was dressed in the Santa Claus clothing distributing presents to them. I never felt happier in all my life even in the best days as a High Priest.
A crowd of ragamuffins camp out at a window where Santa Claus and his wife stand in state, embodiment of the domestic ideal that has not yet gone out of fashion in these tenements, gazing hungrily at the announcement that "A silver present will be given to every purchaser by a real Santa Claus. M. Levitsky."
"He is such a quaint child, and he really and truly believes in Santa Claus," mused Marjorie, aloud. "Most children of his age don't." "He's different," was the quick reply. "He has been brought up away from other children and in a world of his own. He believes in fairies, too, good ones and bad ones.
Santa Claus come?" "Yes," said the younger children, who made a rush for their gifts and laid them on chairs before him. "Grand old chap!" said he, staring thoughtfully at the flannel cat in his hands. "Any idea who it is?" "Can't make out," said Mrs. Vaughn; "very singular man." "Generous, too," the teacher added. "That's the best cat I ever saw, Tom.
Santa Claus don't mind this kind of weather. He lives up at the North Pole, so folks say." "Yes. Won't the chimney soot all stick to him when he's wet? He'll be a sight, won't he?" "Perhaps so, but he won't mind that, either. Now, you go to bed, Georgie, like a good boy." "I'm a-goin'. Say, Aunt Thankful, will the soot come all off on my presents?"
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.
So the little incident had not yet been explained. The Christmas holidays were drawing nearer, and there were busy times in the Bobbsey household. Flossie and Freddie were expecting a visit from Santa Claus, and they wrote many letters to the dear old saint, telling what they wished to receive. "But have you thought of what you are going to give?" asked Mrs.
He was just wondering when "Sometime" would come, when Santa Claus picked up a letter, which had been thrown on the floor, and tossed it to the lady, saying, "Here's that letter from that little boy, Tommy Trot. Put some of those things in so he can break them up. He asked only for himself and much joy he will get out of them." Tommy shrank back behind Johnny.
The wind corkscrewed down into these holes, and the reckless children with their drums and dolls, their guns and toy dishes, danced around in the maelstrom and sang: "Here's where Santa Claus came! This is how he got in We should count it a sin Yes, count it a shame, If it hurt when he fell on the floor."
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