Two wax candles were burning in the back room and the fire was crackling. There were stockings and stockings, and hers were such little mites that some one had hung a white bag on the brass nail that held the feather-duster, and marked it "For Hanny." And a box lay in a chair.
There was a cruller man with eyes, nose, and mouth. There were candies galore, the clarified ones, red and yellow, idealized animals of all kinds. There was an elegant silver paper cornucopia tied with blue ribbons. There was a box of beautiful pop-corn that had turned itself inside out. Ribbon for her hair, a paint-box, a case of Faber pencils, handkerchiefs, a lovely new pink merino dress, a muff that purported to be ermine, a pair of beautiful blue knit slippers tied with ribbons. These didn't come from Santa Claus, for they had on a card—"With best love and a Merry Christmas, from Dolly." That was Dolly Beekman. Hanny laid them up against her face and kissed them, they were so soft and beautiful.
She drew a long breath before she opened the box. Of course it couldn't be a real live kitty. John and Steve were coming in at the door.
"Merry Christmas!" she shouted with the boys They were not so very far ahead of her.
Steve caught her under the arms and held her almost up to the ceiling, it seemed. She was so little and light.
"Ten kisses before you can come down."
She paid the ten kisses, and would have given twice the number.
"I'm trying to guess what is in the box." She looked perplexed and a crease came between her eyes.
"It's a chrononhontontholagosphorus!"
"A—what?" Her face was a study.