Mollie opened the door and walked in, Whistlebinkie following close behind her—and what a sight it was that met their gaze! There in the middle of the floor sat the Unwiseman, the perfect picture of despair. Scattered about the room were hundreds of broken toys, and swinging from the mantel-piece were two hundred stockings.
"Hello!" said the Unwiseman. "Merry Christmas. I'm ruined; but what of that? You aren't."
"But how are you ruined?" asked Mollie.
"My business has failed—it didn't work," groaned the Unwiseman. "It was the toy business I was going into, and as I had no money to buy the toys with I borrowed a hundred pairs of stockings and hung 'em up. Then I put out that notice for Santa Claus, telling him that this was an Orphan Asylum."
"Yes," said Mollie, "I know. But it wasn't the truth, was it?"
"Of course it was," said the Unwiseman. "I'm an orphan. Very few men of my age are not, and this is my asylum."
"Yes; but you said there were two hundred in here," said Mollie. "I saw your sign."
The Unwiseman's "orphans."
"Well there are," said the Unwiseman. "The piano hasn't any father or mother, neither have the chairs, or the hundred and ninety-eight other orphans in this house. It was all true."