Marvellous, too, to see the way in which, with the warmth of the fire and the generous glow of the spirits, his face changed and brightened till the old-time cheerfulness beamed again upon it.
He looked about him, as it were, with a new and growing interest.
“A pleasant room,” he said. “And what better, sir, than the wind without and a brave fire within!”
Then his eye fell upon the mantelpiece, where lay among the litter of books and pipes a little toy horse.
“Ah,” said Father Christmas almost gayly, “children in the house!”
“One,” I answered, “the sweetest boy in all the world.”
“I’ll be bound he is!” said Father Christmas and he broke now into a merry laugh that did one’s heart good to hear. “They all are! Lord bless me! The number that I have seen, and each and every one—and quite right too—the sweetest child in all the world. And how old, do you say? Two and a half all but two months except a week? The very sweetest age of all, I’ll bet you say, eh, what? They all do!”
And the old man broke again into such a jolly chuckling of laughter that his snow-white locks shook upon his head.
“But stop a bit,” he added. “This horse is broken. Tut, tut, a hind leg nearly off. This won’t do!”
He had the toy in his lap in a moment, mending it. It was wonderful to see, for all his age, how deft his fingers were.