"I'll have to tell my papa about them," said Little Billee, much impressed by the simplicity of this arrangement. "We have a glass board on the front of our ortymobile to keep the wind off Henry—he's our shuffer—but papa wears a fur coat, and sometimes he says the wind goes right through that. He'll be glad to know about these boards."
"I shouldn't wonder," smiled Santa Claus. "They aren't very becoming, but they are mighty useful. You might save up your pennies and give your papa a pair like 'em for his next Christmas."
Santa Claus laughed as he spoke; but there was a catch in his voice which Little Billee was too young to notice.
"You've got letters printed there," said the boy, peering around in front of his companion at the lettering on the board. "What do they spell? You know I haven't learned to read yet."
"And why should you know how to read at your age?" said Santa Claus. "You're not more than—"
"Five last month," said Little Billee proudly. It was such a great age!
"My, as old as that?" cried Santa Claus. "Well, you are growing fast! Why, it don't seem more than yesterday that you was a pink-cheeked babby, and here you are big enough to be out alone! That's more than my little boy is able to do."
Santa Claus shivered slightly, and Little Billee was surprised to see a tear glistening in his eye.
"Why, have you got a little boy?" he asked.
"Yes, Little Billee," said the saint. "A poor white-faced little chap, about a year older than you, who—well, never mind, kiddie—he's a kiddie, too—let's talk about something else, or I'll have icicles in my eyes."