"Oh, so many things," and the child clasped her little hands together as she gazed thoughtfully into the fire. "I want a new dolly, that will shut her eyes and go to sleep. I want candy—and something for Quabee, and the little Indian children. And I want——"
"And what?" Martin asked as she hesitated.
"I want my daddy and my mamma. Oh, why don't they come! Do you think they will come this Christmas?"
"Not this Christmas, Nance. You must wait, and some day you will understand why they cannot come to you now. But we'll fix up a tree, a little one, won't we?" he suggested in order to divert her attention. "We'll find a nice one and put it right by your bed, and we'll play that your daddy and mamma are here."
"Oh, yes," and Nance clapped her hands with delight. "And we'll let the Indian children see it, won't we? Oh, that will be lovely!"
After Nance had been tucked into bed, and was fast asleep, Martin picked up another strip of birch bark, and scrawled a note to the trader at Fort O' Rest. "They may have something suitable for a child," he mused, as he gazed thoughtfully upon what he had written. "Nance will be terribly disappointed if she doesn't get something. They will have sugar, at least, and that will be better than nothing."
As Christmas approached Martin became uneasy. The tree had been found, and was standing at the foot of Nance's cot. Every day he expected the arrival of the Indians from the fort, bringing with them the long-looked-for supplies and presents. They were much later than usual, so Quabee informed him, as it generally took them twelve sleeps to go and return.
The day before Christmas Martin's anxiety increased. Nance talked almost incessantly about what Santa Claus would bring her, and asked all kinds of questions. Martin went often to the door, and looked far off towards the woods whither the trail led, hoping to hear the jingle of bells, the shouts of the Indians, and the joyful yelps of the dogs. But no sound could he hear. The great forest, silent and grim, revealed nothing to the anxious watcher. When night, cold and dreary, shut down Martin's last hope vanished. He now no longer expected the return of the Indians. It was with a heavy heart that he played with Nance, told her several stories about Santa Claus, and the Christmas trees he had when he was a little boy.
"And just think!" the child exclaimed with delight, "when I wake in the morning there will be such nice things upon my tree."
Martin did not reply; how could he? He merely held her close, and stared straight before him into the fire. He pictured her bitter disappointment when she opened her eyes and found the tree as bare as it was the night before. What could he say to her, and how would he be able to soothe her sorrow? When at last she was snugly tucked into her little cot she put her arms around Martin's neck, and gave him a good-night kiss.