“I don’t know. It is pretty late,” said his father. “Why didn’t you ask him to send these things to Johnny when you wrote your other letter?”
“I did not think of it,” said Tommy, frankly. “I forgot him.”
“Do you ask only for yourself?”
“No. For little Sis and Mother and Peake and one other, but I’m not going to tell you who he is.”
His father smiled. “Not Johnny?”
“No,” said Tommy. “I forgot him.”
“I am afraid I did, too,” said his father slowly. “Well, write another and try. You can never tell. Trying is better than crying.”
This was two days before Christmas. And the next afternoon Tommy went again with his father to the coasting-hill to see the boys and once more take a coast with Johnny. But no Johnny was there and no other boy asked Tommy if he wanted a ride. So, they returned home much disappointed, his father telling him more about the Eskimos and the polar bears. But, just as they were turning the corner before reaching the gate which led into their grounds, they came on Johnny struggling along through the snow, under the weight of a big basket full of bundles. At sight of them he swung the basket down in the snow with a loud, “Whew, that’s heavy! I tell you.” Tommy ran forward to meet him.
“We have been looking for you,” he said.
“I could not go to-day,” explained Johnny. “I had to work. I am working for Mr. Bucket to-day to make some money to buy Christmas things.”