“Oh, yes, they are,” replied Sam. “You ought to see them, Billy. They’ve got beautiful red and yellow flowers painted all around the edges.”
“Things always look and taste better to us when we’re out visiting than when we’re at home,” said Mrs. Hanlon. “I don’t see what makes you like to come here so well, Sam, when you have everything so nice at home.”
“I like your food,” replied Sam, “it is a great deal nicer than what we have.”
“Well, I never!” exclaimed Mrs. Hanlon.
Somehow it happened that the dinner was what Sam liked best, and he thought it very strange; but Mrs. Hanlon wanted the little blind boy to feel at home as soon as possible, and she had what she thought the boys would like.
There was beafsteak that Sam liked so much, and baked potatoes, that Mrs. Hanlon always let him open and spread himself, and sweet cranberry sauce, exactly the way he liked it, and hot biscuits, as white and fluffy as cotton wool when he broke them open, so much nicer than the cold rolls or bread and butter he had at home. Then, when they had eaten all these things, there was a nice little pudding with the cold, hard sauce Sam liked so well.
The best part of this was that Sam was allowed to prepare his own food all by himself, instead of having it cut up for him just as if he were a baby. To be sure, his knife sometimes slipped when he was cutting his meat, and a little gravy would be spilled on the white tablecloth; and once or twice a piece of meat flew off his plate and lighted in the middle of the table, but Mrs. Hanlon didn’t care one bit, and she thought he did splendidly, so Sam didn’t feel badly at all about it.
Poor Billy had to have his food prepared for him, but he managed to feed himself very well, and everything tasted as good to him as it did to Sam. There was very little talking during the dinner, both boys were so hungry, but when they were through and Mrs. Hanlon was washing the dishes in the little pantry, they followed her there. Sam told her all about the Christmas presents he was to give, all except the one he had for her, and he told her she must hang up the very largest stocking she had, and he was afraid the present wouldn’t go in then. She must hang up one for Billy, too, he said, because he would have some presents.
“Does Santa Claus bring all the presents, Sam?” asked poor little Billy, whose experience in presents had been very limited.
“No,” replied Sam, very decidedly, “I don’t believe he does. Why, he couldn’t get around to all the places, you know. Even God Himself would have to hustle.”