“ ‘Candles,’ said my father.
“ ‘No, father, not the candles; the other things?’
“ ‘Those are toys, my son.’
“ ‘Are they ever taken off?’
“ ‘Yes, they are taken off, and given to the children who stand around the tree.’
“Patty and I grasped each other by the hand, and with one voice murmured, ‘How kind of Old Father Christmas!’
“By-and-by I asked, ‘How old is Father Christmas?’
“My father laughed, and said, ‘One thousand eight hundred and thirty years, child,’ which was then the year of our Lord, and thus one thousand eight hundred and thirty years since the first great Christmas Day.
“ ‘He looks very old,’ whispered Patty.
“And I, who was, for my age, what Kitty called ‘Bible-learned,’ said thoughtfully, and with some puzzledness of mind, ‘Then he’s older than Methusaleh.’