“‘Some day’ is too far away,” said Tommy. “I want to go now.”
“Not so far away when you are my age,” said his father smiling. “Ah, there is where the North Star is,” he said, pointing. “You cannot see it yet. I will show it to you later, so you can steer by it.”
“That is the way Santa Claus comes,” said Tommy, his eyes on the Northern sky. “I am going to wait for him tomorrow night.”
“You know he does not bring things to boys who keep awake!”
“I know; but I won’t let him see me.”
As they trudged along Tommy suddenly asked, “Don’t you wish, Father, Santa Claus would bring Johnny a cow for his mother?”
“Why, yes,” said his father.
“Like Cowslip or Rose or even old Crumpled Horn?”
“Like our cows!” echoed his father, absently. “Why, yes.”
“Because they are all fine cows, you know. Peake says so, and Peake knows a good cow,” said Tommy, proud of his intimacy with the farmer. “I tell you what I am going to do when I get home,” he declared. “I am going to write another letter to Santa Claus and put it in the chimney and ask him to send Johnny a whole lot of things: a cow and a gun and all sorts of things. Do you think it’s too late for him to get it now?”