"After Mrs. Barclay?" repeated Charity. "I want to know!"
"I don't believe it," said Lois. "She is too old for him."
"She's not old," said Madge. "And he is no chicken, my dear. You'll see. It's she he's after. He's coming next time as Santa Claus, that's all. And we have got to make out a list of things—things for presents,—for every individual girl and boy in the Sunday school; there's a job for you. Santa Claus will want a big sled."
"Who is going to do what?" inquired Mrs. Armadale here. "I don't understand, you speak so fast, children."
"Mother, instead of a Christmas tree, we are going to have Santa Claus and his sled; and the sled is to be heaped full of presents for all the children; and Mr. Dillwyn is going to do it, and get the presents, and be Santa Claus himself."
"How, be Santa Claus?"
"Why, he will dress up like Santa Claus, and come in with his sled."
"Where?"
"In the church, grandmother; there is no other place. The other church have their Sunday-school room you know; but we have none."
"They are going to have their tree in the church, though," said Charity; "they reckon the Sunday-school room won't be big enough to hold all the folks."