Oh, very, very old! Over nineteen hundred years! Is that not a long life, little ones? But he has a young heart—this dear old man,—and a kind one. Can you guess his name? "Hurrah for Santa Claus!" Right!—the very one.
He put his basket down near Robby, and with his back turned to him shook the snow from his fur coat. Some of the flakes fell on Rob's face and roused him from his sleep. Opening his eyes, he saw the white figure, but did not stir nor cry out, lest the vision should vanish.
But bless his big heart! he had no idea of vanishing till his night's work was done. He took a large book from his pocket, opened at the first page, and looked at it very closely.
"Tommy Turner" was written at the top, and just below was a little map,—yes, there was Tommy's heart mapped out like a country. Part of the land was marked good, part of it bad. Here and there were little flags to point out places where battles had been fought during the year. Some of them were black and some white; wherever a good feeling had won the fight, there was a white one.
"Tommy Turner," said Santa Claus aloud,—"six white flags, three black ones. That leaves only three presents for Tommy: but we must see what can be done for him."
So he bustled among the toys, and soon had a ball, a horse, and a Noah's ark tied up in a parcel, which he tossed into the basket.
Name after name was read off, some of them belonging to Rob's playmates, and you may be sure that the little boy listened with his heart in his mouth.
"Robby Morgan!" said Santa Claus.
In his excitement that small lad nearly upset the cart, but Santa did not notice it.
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven"—Rob's breath came very short—"whites!"