"That must be very nice, Mr. Khwis. How nice it must be for your little children every night when you tell them stories."
"Yes—yes"—and here Kris had to wipe his eyes with his handkerchief.
"Isn't that a doll?" said Alice, looking at the bag.
"Yes; a doll from Japan."
"Oh!" exclaimed Alice.
"And boxes of sugar-plums for Christmas," he added. "And, Hugh, here are skates for you and this bundle of books."
"Thank you, sir."
"And these—and these for my—for Alice," and Kris drew forth a half-dozen delicate Eastern scarves and cast them, laughing, around the girl's neck as she stood delighted.
"And now I want to trust you. This is for—for your mother; only an envelope from Kris to her. Inside is a fairy paper, and whenever she pleases it will turn to gold—oh! much gold, and she will be able then to keep her old home and you need never go away, and the pony will stay."
"Oh! that will be nice. We do sank you, sir; don't we, Alice?"