Deer Santy—Bring me any nice things you got left. With love
Hannah.
Deer Santy—Don't let my Mama and my Papa get mad bout you.
Hannah.
Eli began to chortle, and Hannah stirred in her sleep, throwing both chubby arms over her head. Clutched tightly in her left hand they saw a rosary of amethyst colored beads.
Rose snapped off the light and pushed Eli out into the hall. He sat down on the stairs and laughed until he cried. "The dog-gone little mixer!" he chuckled. "A Gentile Catholic Christian Scientist is she? And if she has ever happened to hear anything about Mahomet, believe me, she's sleeping with her feet toward Mecca right now!"
Rose was weeping silently over the message: "Don't let my Mama my Papa get mad bout you." She touched her husband on the shoulder, "Eli, what shall we do about it?"
"Do?" He stood up and set his jaw determinedly. "You spoke just now of the fight between the old and the new generations: do you see what we are coming to if we don't concede our child her legitimate rights. She will seek them out, and take them by force, and never forgive us for withholding them, that's what! Every child who has ever heard of Santa Claus has a right to enjoy the myth. Didn't I give a hundred dollars to the Elks and a hundred dollars to the Big Brothers who are looking after the empty stockings of the poor children, while my own baby——"
He had reached his bedroom door and was kicking off his house slippers.
"Eli, where are you going?"