"What!" cried Santa Claus, indignantly, bounding about the room like a tennis ball again. "Me? Do you mean to say you've summoned me away from my work at this season of the year just to bring you a glass of ice water?"
"I—I didn't mean for you to bring it," said Jimmieboy, meekly. "I—I must have made a mistake——"
"It's outrageous," said Santa Claus, stamping his foot, "You hadn't oughter make mistakes. I won't bring you anything on Christmas—no, not a thing. You——"
A knock at the door interrupted the little old man, and Jimmieboy, on going to see who was there, discovered the hall boy with the pitcher of water.
"What's that?" asked Santa, as Jimmieboy returned.
"It's the water," replied the little fellow. "So I couldn't have made a mistake after all."
"Hum!" said Santa, stroking his beard slowly and thoughtfully. "I guess—I guess the wires must be crossed—so it wasn't your fault—and I will bring you something, but the man who ought to have looked after those wires and didn't won't find anything in his stocking but a big hole in the toe on Christmas."
The old fellow then shook hands good-by with the boy, and walked to the chimney.
"Let's see—what shall I bring you?" he asked, pausing.