A quiver came into Phronsie's voice and her lip drooped, and she looked as if she were going to cry. "Please," she began.
"Santa Claus is going to take it to her," said the old lady, making haste to explain when she saw Phronsie's face. "Don't you be afraid, child; the poor little girl will get her doll."
"Oh, then I'm glad," said Phronsie, beginning to smile. And two little tears that were just starting out determined to go back again. Then she laughed gleefully. "Polly, Polly," she cried in great excitement, "the big lady is going to take it to the poor little girl; she is, Polly, she said so."
"I shan't take it," said Madam Van Ruypen, nodding over to Polly; "the little girl won't know it's from me, but she will have it all the same."
"Shan't you tell her you sent it?" demanded Joel, who had caught the words, and whirling around suddenly; "shan't you tell her about any of the things?" waving his hands in all directions.
"Of course not," declared Madam Van Ruypen. "Dear me, not for the world, Joel, would I have them know where the things come from. The presents all go from Santa Claus."
"Oh!" said Joel.
"And now you don't know—you can't even guess," said Madam Van Ruypen, "what a load you have taken off my mind by coming here to help me."
"Have we?" cried Polly, with glistening eyes.
"Oh, so much!" declared the old lady.