“Mother! Father Christmas is here!”
“You don’t say so!” said Mrs. Hunt, affecting extreme astonishment. “Where?”
“I saw him run along the hall and go into the study. He was real, Mother!”
“Of course he’s real,” Major Hunt said. “Do you think he’s gone up the study chimney?”
Wally appeared in the doorway.
“Will the ladies and gentlemen kindly walk into the study?” he said solemnly. “We have a distinguished guest.”
“There! I told you,” said Geoffrey ecstatically. He tugged at his father’s hand, capering.
In the study a great fir-tree towered to the ceiling; a Christmas-tree of the most beautiful description, gay with shining coloured globes and wax lights and paper lanterns; laden with mysterious packages in white paper, tied with ribbon of red, white and blue, and with other things about which there was no mystery—clockwork toys, field guns and ambulance wagons, and a big, splendid Red Cross nurse, difficult to consider a mere doll. Never was seen such a laden tree; its branches groaned under the weight they bore. And beside it, who but Father Christmas, bowing and smiling with his eyes twinkling under bushy white eyebrows.
“Walk in, ladies and gentleman, walk in!” he said invitingly.
Wally frowned at him.