Mother and all the rest of the folks. Nice surprises they were, too.
In fact, it was really nicer planning them out, and getting them with
the money he had earned, than dreaming about what he would get
himself.

The parlor door was kept carefully locked all that long afternoon. The
children tried to play with the things that had come in their
stockings, but somehow these didn't seem as interesting as what they
guessed was going on behind the closed door. So they kept their eyes
glued there, as Marmaduke's story-book said, though he thought that
was funny, when they hadn't put any mucilage on them.

Once in a while Mother would come out of the parlor to look in the big
closet, then she would journey back very quickly, holding the
mysterious parcel tight under her apron or shawl so that they couldn't
see it. She would open the door, too, only the tiniest crack, to slip
in sideways like a slender fairy. And though a radiance and splendor
would shine through--like Heaven it was--they could never see what
made it, and before they could say "Jack Robinson," the door would be
shut--tight shut--and--that was all.

"Oh, oh," it was so hard to wait!

At last--about four in the afternoon--the signal was given. The Toyman
made them all form in line in the dining-room, Mother leading, to show
them the way, though they hardly needed a guide; poor little Mrs.
Cricket next, for it wouldn't be Christmas unless they made someone
outside their own family happy; then Jehosophat, Marmaduke, and
Hepzebiah--no, that is wrong, Hepzebiah ahead, as the boys had decided
on "ladies first"; then Father and the Toyman, carrying little lame