"You can tell me, child?"

"You see, He came a long, long time ago as a little baby. Mamma says
that he began at the beginning, so that no little child could say, 'I
can't be like Jesus, for Jesus never was so little as me.' That first
birthday of His, there wasn't any room for Him at the tavern, and when
the dear little baby Jesus was sleepy, they laid Him right in a stable
manger, and the shepherds found Him lying there. Christmas is His
Birthday, and I suppose they give all the children presents because
Jesus loved little children, and then Santa Claus--Oh, Mrs. Huntley,
that's what I came about, and I 'most forgot! If you don't keep
Christmas--I mean as we do," she added, as Mrs. Huntley frowned, "and
if you don't use the things that Santa Claus leaves here, can't I come
over and get 'em? Only I'd rather Ned should have 'em."

"Child alive! How your tongue runs! Here, now, take these cookies home
with you, I guess Ned's too busy to play with you."

"Thank you, ma'am. And you'll remember about Santa Claus?" said little
Mamie, as she walked away with her cookies.

Mrs. Huntley worked on for a few minutes longer, and then, leaving her
dishes, she went to her own room and opened a bureau drawer. There
lay a bright little dress and pretty white apron,--Polly's best
things,--the little clothes in which she used to look so lovely. There
were the last Christmas toys the mother had ever bought,--only a
little tin bank, a paper cornucopia, and a doll; but she remembered
that Christmas so well! Could it be that it was only three years ago?
How Polly had laughed and chattered over her stocking! And Ned,--now