CHAPTER III.

SUSY'S CHRISTMAS.


It was bright and beautiful all day, and then, when no one could
possibly wait any longer, it was Christmas evening. The coal glowed in
the grate with a splendid blaze: all the gas-burners were lighted, and
so were everybody's eyes. If one had listened, one might have heard,
from out of doors, a joyful tinkling of sleigh-bells; yet I fancy nobody
could have told whether the streets were still or noisy, or whether the
sky had a moon in it or not; for nobody was quiet long enough to notice.

But by and by, when the right time had come, the folding-doors were
opened, just like the two covers to a Christmas fairy book. Then, in a
second, it was so still you might have heard a pin drop.

Such a funny little old gentleman had arrived: his face alive with
dimples, and smiles, and wrinkles. His cheeks were as red and round as
winter apples, and where there wasn't a wrinkle there was a dimple; and
no doubt there was a dimple in his chin, and his chin maybe was double,
only you couldn't tell, for it was hidden ever so deep under a beard as
white as a snow-drift.

He walked along, tottering under the weight of a huge pack full of
presents. He extended his small arms towards the audience most