The four men were dressed in the careless negligee of city men in the country. They were talking gaily now among themselves. The woman spoke seldom, staring dreamily into the fire.
A clock in another room struck eight; the woman glanced over to where the child sat, absorbed with the pictures in his book. The page at which he was looking showed a sleigh loaded with toys, with a team of reindeers and a jolly, fat, white-bearded, red-jacketed old man driving the sleigh over the chimney tops.
"Come Loto, little son," the woman said. "You hear—it is the time of sleep for you."
The boy put down his book reluctantly and went over to the fireplace, standing beside his mother with an arm about her neck.
"Oh, mamita dear, will he surely come, this Santa Claus? He never knew about me before; will he surely come?"
Lylda kissed him tenderly. "He will come, Loto, every Christmas Eve; to you and to all the other children of this great world, will he always come."
"But you must be asleep when he comes, Loto," one of the men admonished.
"Yes, my father, that I know," the boy answered gravely. "I will go now."
"Come back Loto, when you have undressed," the Chemist called after him, as he left the room. "Remember you must hang your stocking."
When they were left alone Lylda looked at her companions and smiled.