That he thought was fast asleep.
Searching broomstick, nails, and shelf,
Till he finds the little stocking--
Softly lest you hear his knocking--
Smiling, chuckling to himself,
He fills it from his Christmas store,
And out he slips to hunt for more.

Then laugh, little bright-eyes, and hang up your stocking;
Don't count the days any more;
Old Santa Claus will soon be knocking,
Knocking,
Knocking at the door.




OPENING THE GATE FOR PAPA.

Hurrying out to the gateway
Go two little pattering feet;
Eagerly out through the palings
Peer two eyes bright and sweet.

A footstep as eager is answering
The sweet eyes that patiently wait
And papa is kissing, and blessing
The baby that opens the gate.

And every day all the long Summer,