What the Little Brown Boy saw inside the room almost made him tumble backward into the snow.
For, before his very eyes sat Santa Claus, the Santa Claus whose picture the Little Brown Boy had seen many, many times, and who, for as many years as the Little Brown Boy could remember, had crept down his chimney on Christmas Eve and left him toys of all sorts and kinds. Roundabout Santa Claus sat his Brownies, his gay little helpers and toy-makers, and they were listening carefully to every word that Santa Claus had to say. On a table, in front of the fire, there lay a great open Book, and from that Book, so it seemed to the Little Brown Boy, Santa Claus was reading children’s names.
‘Caroline Jones,’ read Santa Claus aloud.
‘A very good girl,’ he added. ‘She minds her mother and goes to bed every night without crying.’
When they heard this the Brownies shouted, ‘Hurrah! Hurrah!’ and clapped their hands. They seemed as pleased as pleased could be to hear this news of Caroline Jones.
Santa Claus bent over the Book again.
‘Tom Robinson,’ read Santa Claus aloud.
‘A better boy than he was a month ago,’ said he, looking round with a smile. ‘He is polite to his grandmother, and runs errands without grumbling, and cleans his finger nails, sometimes, without being told.’
‘Good! Good!’ shouted the Brownies. And again they clapped their tiny hands.
At the next name Santa Claus looked sober and not a single Brownie smiled.