It was midnight, but no Christmas waits disturbed the stillness round the quiet house. The southern cross gleamed clear and bright in the dark blue heavens, and the moon sailed high, silvering the feathery clouds that here and there floated across the star-lit depths, as though some angels passing by had left stray pinions there. The distant ocean had waked from its evening dreams with a thousand twinkling smiles; the tree-ferns trembled beneath the moonbeams’ soft caress; but, brighter than all others were the rays that, creeping through the window to the white curtained beds, kissed so lovingly the sweet faces lying there, lingering round the tumbled curls of little Cis, and on the dimpled arm thrown over her head, and crowning Hal’s dark hair with a soft halo.
“Take that,” said Santa Claus: “it will give you light in the darkest places.”
Then a clear voice broke the stillness of that summer night, making the children stir in their slumbers ... then, once again the silvery voice rang forth, “Wake up, little ones!”
And, starting up, Cis and Hal rubbed their eyes, and wonderingly gazed around.
And there, where the moonbeams fell upon the floor, stood a lad with a smiling face, and on his head was a crown of twinkling stars, and beneath the stars these words shone, “I bring good gifts to all.” A robe of deepest blue hung down in soft shimmering folds near to his feet; and in his hand was a wand, on the tip of which shone the evening star.
Then Hal, without fear, though in a dreamy voice, asked, “Please are you a fairy, little man?”
And Cis in a low voice added, “It’s the Angel of the Stars!”
“No, little ones,” said he, “I am neither a fairy nor an angel; I am only Santa Claus.”