But now Santa Claus was reading again from his great thick Book. And at what he heard the Little Brown Boy could scarcely believe his ears.
‘Dear! Dear!’ Santa Claus was saying. ‘Here is another name that must be crossed out.’
And slowly and sadly Santa Claus read the name aloud.
‘The Little Brown Boy!’ read he.
‘Oh, no, Santa Claus!’ called out all the Brownies, their kind little faces quite wrinkled with distress. ‘Don’t cross out his name to-night. Give him another chance. Perhaps he will learn to pick up his toys. Don’t cross off his name to-night.’
Before Santa Claus could answer or even lay down his pen, there was a noise from the window that made Santa Claus and the Brownies jump to their feet. Over the window-sill rose the head of a little boy. His eyes were round as buttons with fright, his mouth was open to call, ‘No! No! No!’ and every single hair stood straight on end with excitement, which, as you may imagine, gave him a very strange look indeed.
The next moment the little boy, who was dressed in his night-clothes, came scrambling through the half-open window into the room. Straight to Santa Claus he ran and clasped him round his great high boots.
‘No! No! No!’ called out the little boy again, squeezing Santa Claus’s boots close in his arms. ‘Don’t cross out my name! I will be good! I will put away my toys every night! Don’t leave a coal in my stocking at Christmas! Don’t give me an apple with a bite! Oh! Oh! Oh!’
Here the little boy could say no more, for he hadn’t a speck of breath left.
‘Well, well, well,’ said Santa Claus, sitting down and lifting the little boy to his knee, ‘it is the Little Brown Boy himself, I do declare.’