“How good do I have to be? Will Santa Claus come down the chimney?” anxiously questioned Miss Susanna in a high treble that evoked a burst of merriment from the rest of the little group gathered about the fire. “Miss Susanna’s bodyguard,” Vera had lightly named Leila, Robin, Marjorie and herself.
“How good do you think you can be?” Marjorie paused to allow her question to take effect.
“That will depend upon the reward of goodness,” chuckled the old lady.
“You are altogether too precautious.” Marjorie simulated disapproval. “But you can’t fool Santa. He will know the minute he sees you just what sort of little girl you are.”
Miss Susanna peeped through her fingers at Marjorie in a funny, abashed, child-like fashion that elicited fresh laughter. “You can’t fool me, either. He never could come down the chimney and out of that fireplace. I’m going to tell him what you said, when I see him. Then maybe he won’t like you,” she predicted in juvenile triumph.
“Oh, I didn’t say he’d come down our chimney,” reprovingly corrected Marjorie. “I only said he might visit you. He always used to come in at that window over there.” She pointed to one of the living room east windows which opened upon a side veranda.
Miss Susanna appeared impressed at last. “Yes; he could get in here that way. I guess I’d better be good.” A little shout greeted her reluctant admission. “Such a day as I’ve had, children.” She gave a sigh of perfect happiness. “I’m certainly beginning to make up for some of the customs and rites of old Christmas I have missed.”
The jolly Christmas company from Hamilton College had arrived in Sanford in the evening of the previous day. They had separated briefly at the station to go to their various destinations blithely promising Marjorie to be on hand by ten o’clock the next morning to go to a neighboring woods on a winter picnic. The express object of the picnic was the securing and bringing home of the Christmas tree to Castle Dean.
The hard labor part of the expedition had fallen to General Dean. He had complained of the detail in a loud, ungeneral-like manner as a “one-man, wood-chopping stunt,” and had immediately engaged the services of Hal Macy, Charlie Stevens and Danny Seabrooke. The wages they demanded were: “Lots of good eats, and a chance to hang around with the crowd.” The wily general affably agreed to their demand without consulting either the commissary or entertainment departments.
It had proved a memorably merry day. The fun began when the rollicking, cheering forest expedition had piled onto the two long bob sleds, each drawn by four big, satin-coated field horses. It had continued until the young foresters had come singing home through the dusk, the sleds laden with fragrant balsam trees and boughs.