“Why?” they all asked; and then, over and over, they wanted the delightful mystery explained.
“We never'll get through this day,” said Polly in despair, as the last one arrived. “I wish 'twas to-night, for we're all ready.”
“Santy's coming! Santy's coming!” sang Phronsie, as the bright afternoon sunlight went down over the fresh, crisp snow, “for it's night now.”
“Yes, Santa is coming!” sang Polly; and “Santa Claus is coming,” rang back and forth through the old kitchen, till it seemed as if the three little old stockings would hop down and join in the dance going on so merrily.
“I'm glad mine is red,” said Phronsie, at last, stopping in the wild jig, and going up to see if it was all safe, “cause then Santy'll know it's mine, won't he, Polly?”
“Yes, dear,” cried Polly, catching her up. “Oh, Phronsie! you are going to have a Christmas!”
“Well, I wish,” said Joel, “I had my name on mine! I know Dave'll get some of my things.”
“Oh, no, Joe,” said Mrs. Pepper, “Santa Claus is smart; he'll know yours is in the left-hand corner.”
“Will he?” asked Joel, still a little fearful.
“Oh, yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Pepper, confidently. “I never knew him to make a mistake.”