"Sh!" she whispered, putting her finger to her lips. "He is coming—go on and play. Pretend you don't see him until he speaks to you."
As she spoke, a door at the far end of the apartment swung gently open, and a little boy tiptoed softly in. He was a golden-haired little chap, and I fell in love with his soft, dreamy eyes the moment my own rested upon them. I could not help glancing up furtively to see his joy over the discovery of all these wondrous possessions, but alas, to my surprise, there was only an unemotional stare in his eyes as they swept the aggregation of childish treasures. Then, on a sudden, he saw me, squatting on the floor, setting up again the army of silver warriors.
"How do you do?" he said gently, but with just a touch of weariness in his sad little voice.
"Good morning, and a Merry Christmas to you, sir," I replied.
"What are you doing?" he asked, drawing near, and watching me with a good deal of seeming curiosity.
"I am playing with your soldiers," said I. "I hope you don't mind?"
"Oh, no indeed," he replied; "but what do you mean by that? What is playing?"
I could hardly believe my ears.
"What is what?" said I.
"You said you were playing, sir," said he, "and I don't know exactly what you mean."