paper_. A pair of warm gloves, I declare--just what I need. Well,
Santa Claus is a great old fellow, and no mistake.

_Mother has been turning her head toward the window, as though she
were listening to something, and now she says:_

Hush! Is that singing that I hear, far away?

_They all listen, and sure enough from some distance can be heard the
sound of singing voices. The children, nodding their heads, show that
they hear it._

What can it be? _says_ MOTHER. Why, I know; it's the Christmas
Waits, of course, singing carols from house to house.

Oh, I wish they would sing in our street, _cries_ POLLY, _and
runs to the window. Then she exclaims,_ There they are: they are
coming around the corner.

_The others all go toward the window, and_ JACK _says
delightedly._ One of them has a fiddle. Oh, I do hope they will stop
here.

_Then outside the window the Christmas Waits can be seen, all in warm
caps and mittens and mufflers. They stop just in front of the window,
hold up their music before them, and begin to sing the dear old carol,
called_:

THE CAROL OF CHRISTMAS MORNING