That was a stiff one—even for Tess Kenway’s abounding faith. She was silent for a moment.
“Say! do you?” repeated the smallest Corner House girl.
“I tell you, Dot,” Tess said, finally, “I want to believe it. I just do. It’s like fairies and elfs. We want to believe in them, don’t we? It’s just like your Alice-doll being alive.”
“Well!” exclaimed Dot, stoutly, “she’s just as good as alive!”
“Of course she is, Dottie,” said Tess, eagerly. “And so’s Santa Claus. And—and when we stop believing in him, we won’t have near so much fun at Christmas!”
Just then Agnes came in from the kitchen with a heaping pan of warm popcorn.
“Here, you kiddies,” she cried, “run and get your needles and thread. We haven’t near enough popcorn strung. I believe Neale O’Neil ate more than he strung last night, I never did see such a hungry boy!”
“Mrs. MacCall say it’s ’cause he’s growning,” said Dot, solemnly.
“He, he!” chuckled Agnes. “He should be ‘groaning’ after all he gobbled down last night. And I burned my finger and roasted my face, popping it.”
She set down the dish of flaky white puff-balls on a stool, so it would be handy for the little girls. Both brought their sewing boxes and squatted down on the floor in the light from a long window. Tess was soon busily threading the popcorn.