“How I would come tumbling down the chimney, with my bag full of toys!” continued Caroline. “I would fill your stocking just as full as it could be, Emma.”
Emma laughed again; and then she was silent for a few moments, and looked very thoughtful.
“Do you think Santa Claus fills the poor children’s stockings, Carrie?” she asked.
Carrie looked grave also, as she replied,—
“I don’t know, Emma. I would fill their stockings if I were Santa Claus. But, Emma,” she continued, after a short pause, “you know there is not really any such person as Santa Claus. It is our father and mother, and other kind friends, who fill our stockings.”
“I know that, Carrie; and this makes me afraid that the poor children do not have their stockings filled; because, you know, their friends have no money to spend for toys and pretty presents. Don’t you think it would be a good plan for every rich child to be a Santa Claus to some poor child?”
“O, yes, Emma!” exclaimed Carrie; “I think it would be a beautiful plan. How came you to think of it?”
“I do not know, Carrie; but I suppose the good angels whispered it to me. You know mother says that all our good thoughts are from the angels.”
“Well, that is a good thought, I am sure,” replied Carrie; “and I am very glad that our father is rich, so that we can play Santa Claus. And then it is very pleasant to live in such a handsome house, and have such nice clothes and playthings; don’t you think so, Emma?”
“Yes, I do,” answered Emma; “and I always feel sorry for poor little children, who have none of these good things. You know little Mary and Ellen Drayton? Their mother is very poor.”