“Joel—Joel!” cried Polly, shaking his arm, “it’s only a story. Stop, Joey, you’ll make Phronsie cry.”
“But I want—want that boy to get a present from Santa Claus,” sobbed Joel, unable to be comforted.
“Do fix it some way,” whispered Ben over Polly’s shoulder. “Phronsie is beginning now.” And so she was. She had gravely insisted on getting into Polly’s lap; and now she hid her face on Polly’s arm, while soft little sobs shook her figure.
“Dear me!” cried Polly aghast, “was there ever such a time! Children, now stop, both of you. I’ll tell you what Santa Claus did. He looked at Teddy sleeping there; and he said to himself, ‘Now, I’ll give this boy something to make him good, even if he is bad now. And then, if he keeps on being bad, why, he must give it back to me next Christmas; and besides, I’ll have a rod for him.’ So he slipped a toy in Teddy’s stocking and”—
“And was he good?” cried Joel, thrusting his head up quickly, and wiping his wet face on Polly’s gown.
“Yes; oh, you can’t think how good Teddy was all through that year!” said Polly happily. “His mother called him ‘Little Comfort,’ and his father said he was a little man.”
“That’s nice,” said Joel, smiling through his tears.
Phronsie, when she saw that Joel was all right, and that no one else was crying, lifted up her head from Polly’s arm, and laughed gleefully. So on Polly ran with the story.
“Well, and after Santa Claus had gone, for you know he had so many other children to go to see, and it was pink all over the sky, and the children were out of bed; why, it was the hardest thing to keep them out of that room where the tree was. And that day, oh, it was the very longest in all the days of the year! But at last it was night; and then the candles on the tree were all lighted, oh! I guess there were two hundred of them; and they gleamed out such a sparkling brightness, just like little stars, and”—