“Two hundred candles, Polly!” cried every one.
“Yes,” said Polly; “I surely believe there were two hundred candles, all lighted and winking away on that beautiful tree; and somebody, the children’s mother I believe, played on the piano, and everybody marched in line, and the big door was thrown open, and there, with its tip almost to the top of the room, was the most beautiful tree; and every branch was crowded with presents, and everybody got what was most wanted, and there were flowers everywhere. Oh! and a little bird sang—they’d put the cage at the bottom of the tree, because it was too heavy for the branches; and there sat Dicky-bird, his black eyes as big as could be, and he was stretching his throat and singing at the top of his voice. And then everybody took hold of hands, and danced around and around that most beautiful tree a whole hour I guess, and Santa Claus all the while was peeking in at the window. You see, he goes around the next night as soon as it gets dark, to see how the children like his presents. O children,” and Polly glanced out of the window, “if here doesn’t come Mrs. Beebe!”
[VI.]
MR. FATHER KANGAROO AND THE FAT LITTLE BIRD.
Phronsie was wailing dismally, sitting up in the middle of the old bed. Her face pricked, she said; and she was rubbing it vigorously with both fat little hands, and then crying worse than ever.
“O me—O my!”—cried Polly; “how you look, Phronsie!”
[“I want my Mamsie!” cried poor Phronsie.]
