Patty woke, she sat up in bed, she listened.
Not a sound!
Father and Mother and Grandmother must still be fast asleep.
Had Santa Claus come last night?
There was one sure way of telling. Was her stocking filled?
So Patty slipped out of bed and stole into the living-room.
There stood the Tree, fragrant and green, looking taller and more beautiful than ever in the dull morning light.
Under the Tree, propped comfortably against the low branches, sat Polly Perkins King. Her face wore a wise little smile as if she knew all that had happened last night, but would never, never tell.
‘Merry Christmas, Polly,’ whispered Patty as she crept into the room. ‘Oh, look at my stocking, look!’
Yes, the stocking that last night had hung from the mantelpiece, so thin and limp, had now become delightfully plump and thick, with strange little bumps and knobs all over it, and with packages actually peeping over the edge of the top, it was so full.