There was a Santa Claus with snow-white beard who held a little Christmas tree on which tiny real candles were flaming. He was the most wonderful one could behold; but then there was a fastidious, half-grown girl who had been inside herself; she said it was not real snow that was scattered over the man and glistened so prettily in the tree, but only white powdered sugar, for she had tasted it.
That spoiled the Santa Claus for most of them, and there was an abnormal rush to the next most remarkable thing, a carousel which turned around. And here the group of children became so compact that the grown people could hardly get their own loose; and yet they must hurry home. The bells were no longer ringing; it was past six; they must go home and dress and then only would come the pleasantest of all!
But could anything in the world be pleasanter than to walk about in the bright streets, among all the friendly people, who shouted “Merry Christmas!” For it was not only at the windows that there was something to see, but while you walked along there was a commotion, and it turned out to be a heavy man who had fallen, for it was so dreadfully slippery.
And all the bundles which were scattered around him! You would have thought that the man was a big toy-man to be shut up, full of bundles, which now poured out because he flew open when he fell.
“Lord! Poor fellow! Let me brush you off!”
“Did you hurt yourself?”
“Oh, a little,” responded the fat man, and rubbed himself.
“It is dangerous to fall backwards,” said one.
“Especially for heavy people,” added another.
“You were lucky to get off so easily,” said a third.