“Yes, I'm a-goin' to hang up my stockin',” cried the child, hopping from one toe to the other.
“Run get it, Phronsie,” said Joel, “and I'll hang it up for you.
“Why, it's two days before Christmas yet,” said Polly, laughing; “how they'll look hanging there so long.”
“I don't care,” said Joel, giving a last thump to the nail; “we're a-goin' to be ready. Oh, dear! I wish 'twas to-night!”
“Can't Seraphina hang up her stocking?” asked Phronsie, coming up to Polly's side; “and Baby, too?”
“Oh, let her have part of yours,” said Polly, “that'll be best—Seraphina and Baby, and you have one stocking together.”
“Oh, yes,” cried Phronsie, easily pleased; “that'll be best.” So for the next two days, they were almost distracted; the youngest ones asking countless questions about Santa Claus, and how he possibly could get down the chimney, Joel running his head up as far as he dared, to see if it was big enough.
“I guess he can,” he said, coming back in a sooty state, looking very much excited and delighted.
“Will he be black like Joey?” asked Phronsie, pointing to his grimy face.
“No,” said Polly; “he don't ever get black.”