Of course he turned the switch and listened to the hum of the little motor until the battery threatened to be exhausted; of course the railway was put into immediate and repeated operation, regardless of the noise which might awaken his parents. And he stood up, at least three times, sled pressed tightly against his chest, and made imaginary dashes down the park toboggan, outspeeding even the long bobsleds as the ice flew beneath him. Then he glanced at the title pages of the books again and even read a page or two from each opening chapter that he might know which would have the honor of being chosen for first consumption by his hungry mind. Finally, he stretched out on his back beneath the tree and gazed upward, watching each glistening detail in utter content.
Voices upstairs told John that his parents had wakened at last. Up the winding flight as fast as his little legs could carry him, and into the big south room with a cry of, "Oh, Mother! Mother! Daddy! it's just fine!"
"Happy, son?" asked his mother as he snuggled down beside her on the bed.
He nodded. Happy? Who wouldn't be with all those treasures in his possession? Mr. Fletcher chuckled.
"There's a box on your mother's bureau which we forgot to put under the tree," he said. "You can open it here if you wish."
The boy was up and back in a trice, this time to his father's bed, where he sat and tugged at the pink string fastenings until a set of doll's dishes came in sight.
"That's in answer to that list of yours," he was told. "Think those will do for your flat, son?"
"Louise'll like 'em," he smiled unabashed. "I'll give 'em to her with my other present."
More chuckles, more smiles, and more laughter. What matter if all else in the world went wrong, if the Spirit of Christmas reigned supreme in that family for the day?
"What did you see in the parlor, John?" asked his father.