Nancy clasped her hands with rapture at the sight. "Oh, Santa Claus!" was all she could exclaim.
He lifted her on to his shoulder, and let her gaze until she had gazed enough. Now, indeed, she realised what toys were—whence they came, and how they grew.
Then she felt he was carrying her away, and her heart beat with curiosity and excitement, for she knew Santa Claus was proceeding on his rounds to pay visits to all the sleeping children who deserved it, while she was clinging to his dear old neck, and would see all that went on.
The first visit was to Iris at the Grange, whither Santa Claus was already on his way. They entered the pretty bedroom, where the spoilt little lady was smiling in anticipation in her sleep; and the "dolly, pamberlator, watch, and titten with real scratches" (immovably asleep) were all produced as though by some conjuring trick from Santa Claus's basket or deep pockets, and duly placed to meet the child's eager glance on her waking.
"Mr. Santa Claus," whispered Nancy, who had been wondering all the time, "how did we get here?"
"Chimney!" he whispered back.
"Chimney?"
Santa Claus nodded.
This didn't make her much wiser, for to her knowledge she had never seen the inside of a chimney in her life; but she forgot to pursue the subject now that something more interesting was going on.
Iris had vanished, and a pale little boy lay asleep in a room above a flower shop.