“I do,” said Mr. Blake, “I do, indeed. I’m almost sure he will.”
He looked straight at Lydia as he spoke, and something in his blue eyes made her say, “You look just like Santa Claus—the way he did last night.”
“Do I?” said Mr. Blake with a laugh. “Well, I don’t know a better person to look like than Santa Claus.”
Lydia put up her hand and patted his face.
“I’m going to give you something,” said she. “I was saving it for Mary Ellen. It’s mine, I didn’t eat it myself, but I want to give it to you. It’s one of those good little cakes.” And she drew it from her crummy pocket and put it in Mr. Blake’s hand.
“Thank you, Lydia,” said he, “thank you. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Mrs. Blake could make up a little box for you to take home to Mary Ellen. Mother!” he called, “Mother!”
Mrs. Blake came into the room, and then, instead of saying anything about little cakes for Mary Ellen, “You tell her, Mother,” said Mr. Blake. “You tell her.”
“Oh, Friend Morris,” said Mrs. Blake, “you tell Lydia, won’t you?”
So Friend Morris came forward, and she was smiling as she had smiled all afternoon.
“Friend Lydia,” said she, “last night thee asked a present of Santa Claus, and to-day the present is given thee. Here are a good father and a good mother who will love thee well, and in turn they will have the love of a good little daughter. Does thee not understand what I am saying to thee, Friend Lydia?”