"One, two, three, blacks! Now I wonder what that little chap would like—here's a drum, a box of tools, a knife, a menagerie. If he hadn't played truant from school that day, and then told a fib about it, I'd give him a rocking-horse."
Rob groaned in anguish of spirit.
"But, bless him! he's a fine little fellow, and perhaps he will do better next year if I give him the horse."
That was too much for our boy. With a "hurrah" he jumped up and turned a somersault right at Santa Claus's feet.
"Good gracious!" cried Santa, "what's this?"
"Come along, I'll show you the one," cried Rob.
Santa Claus allowed himself to be led off to the pile of horses. You may believe that Rob's sharp eyes soon picked out the one with the longest tail and thickest mane.
"Well, he beats all the boys that I ever saw! What shall I do with the little spy?"
"O dear Santa Claus!" cried Robby, hugging the red boots, "do just take me along with you; I'll stick tight when you slide down the chimney."