Once Mother saw him peeking.
She went over to the door and unlocked it. But she didn't open it.
"I thought I would keep it locked, children," she said, "but after all I've decided I won't. Trust is stronger than any key. And I think I can trust you, can't I?"
"Y-y-yes," said Jehosophat.
"Y-y-yes," said Marmaduke.
"Y-y-yeth," lisped Hepzebiah.
"Thank you, my dears," she said, then went away, leaving the door unlocked.
For two whole weeks they hadn't peeked. They had hung around that closet and stared and sighed, but never once did they even try the door. And I think they were rather brave, when they knew there were packages inside, all wrapped in red paper and tied with green ribbon, and they could almost hear the paper rustle. Oh, well they knew those packages were there, for hadn't they caught Mother inside with her apron over packages and things, the bits of red and green showing through the folds of the apron. Besides that, they had seen Father go to the largest closet of all with parcels covered by a blanket. And it is very hard to know that there are things, wonderfully beautiful things like treasures, hidden in dark closets, and not to be able to investigate and find out about them. But then, of course, there was the fun of guessing. And they guessed everything under the sun, enough toys and articles to fill the biggest store in the world, or the whole of Santa Claus' workshop, which stands under the North Star where the polar bears live and the Aurora weaves pretty scarfs in the sky.
Well, that day passed, and in the morning Jehosophat climbed on a chair again and put a little mark through the next number--24.
"Tomorrow!" he said in a solemn whisper. And the whispers of the other two children, echoing him, were quite as full of wonder and awe.