The girl addressed was a little girl, left in Mrs. Mowbray's care while her parents were in Europe. She dimpled and declared she supposed one place was as good as another.
"But you believe Santa Claus comes down the chimney?"
"I always knew better, Mrs. Mowbray."
"You did! You knew better! She knew better, Miss Blodgett. We are growing so wise in this generation. Here's little Miss Farrar does not believe in Santa Claus. I think that's a great loss. Miss Carpenter, what do you think about it? Do you think it is best to let the cold daylight in upon all our dreams?"
"The sun is not cold, madame."
"But the sun leaves no mystery."
"I do not like mystery, madame?"
"You don't? I think the charm of the stocking hung up, is the mystery. To listen for the sound of the reindeers' feet on the roof, to hear the rustle of the paper packages as Santa Claus comes down the chimney—there is nothing like that! I used to lie and listen and cover up my eyes for fear I should look, and be all in a tremble of delight and mystery."
"I should have looked," said Rotha.
"You must never look at Santa Claus. He don't like it."