"Of course," said the Chintz Imp. "Do you think I am as old as your great-aunt, without knowing much more than you do! Bring me the knife. I'm going to swarm up the chimney and scratch away the mortar. Leave it entirely to me, and Santa Klaus will be down here in an hour or two!"
Marianne ran off to her little play box, and returned with the knife. It was almost as large as the Chintz Imp, but he possessed so much wiry strength in his thin arms and backbone that he was able to clamber up the chimney without difficulty.
"Are you all right?" cried Marianne, standing with her bare feet on the edge of the stone fender, and holding up the night-light as high as she could without singeing Santa Klaus.
"Getting up," replied the Chintz Imp, "but he's in very tight!"
"Is it his sack that's stuck?" enquired Marianne, anxiously.
"Yes, yes! It's only my sack!" cried the deep voice; "you get that loose, and I shall drop into the room like a fairy."
Marianne strained her eyes up the chimney, but could see nothing.
"Take care! Here's a lot of plaster falling!"
The warning was just in time, for, as Marianne's head disappeared, a handful of cement fell rattling into the fireplace, just escaping her bare feet as she jumped on to the hearthrug.
"The knife does beautifully," cried the voice of the Chintz Imp. "I think when I've loosened this paint box, he'll fall down immediately."