I'm sure I know what mine is, _says_ POLLY, _and then as she
draws it out._ Yes, it is: it's a doll.

Why, Polly, _cries_ JACK, it's the very same doll that we--

Hush! _says_ POLLY _quickly_. Yes, it's the very same kind of
a doll I asked for. See, Mother, she has a pink sash. Isn't she lovely?

Now, Jack, _says_ FATHER, I think it is your turn next. What is in
that box of yours? Slate pencils, probably.

Slate pencils! _says_ JACK, _indignantly_. You know I didn't
want slate pencils.

But are you sure you will get just what you want? _asks_ FATHER.

Yes, indeed I am, _answers_ JACK, _pulling out the box and
opening it_, and there it is--a soldier. I knew it would be that,
because I saw it when--

Hush! _says_ POLLY _quickly_. Father, it is now your turn at last.

And I know all about mine, _says_ FATHER. It is soft and squashy,
so of course it's a sponge. Now why do you suppose Santa Claus brought
me a sponge? for my old one is quite good enough.

But it isn't a sponge at all, _cries_ JACK, _who has been peeking
into the little bundle_.

Not a sponge? _says_ FATHER. But what is it, then? _He opens the