“How much do you make?” asked Tommy’s father.
“Half a dollar to-day, if I work late. I generally make ten cents, sometimes fifteen.”
“That is a pretty heavy load—in the snow,” said Tommy’s father, as Johnny stooped and swung his basket up on his hip.
“Oh, I can manage it,” said the boy, cheerfully. “A boy stole my sled last night, or I would carry it on that.”
“Stole your sled!” cried Tommy.
“Yes, I left it outside the door when I was getting my load to put on, and when I came out it was gone. I wish I could catch him.”
“I am going to watch for him, too,” said Tommy.
“If I had a box I could make another one,” said Johnny. “Maybe, Mr. Bucket will give me one after Christmas. He said maybe he would. Then I will give you another ride.” He called over his shoulder to them, as he trudged off, “Well, good-by. I hope you will have a merry Christmas, and that Santa Claus will bring you lots of things,” and away he trudged. They wished him a merry Christmas, too, and then turned into their grounds.
“Father,” said Tommy, suddenly, “let’s give Johnny a sled.”
“Yes,” said his father, “you might give him yours—the one you got last Christmas.”