“Stop, stop!” he cried, pointing. “That’s Johnny’s home and that’s Johnny’s mother sewing. She’s laughing. I expect she’s making that for Johnny.”
“Where?” asked Santa Claus, turning. Tommy pointed back, “There, there!” but they had whisked around a corner.
“I was so busy looking at that big house that I did not see it,” said Santa Claus.
“That’s our house,” said Tommy. “I tell you what,” he said presently, “if I get anything—I’ll give him some.” Santa Claus smiled.
So they dashed along, making all sorts of turns and curves, through streets lined with shops full of Christmas things and thronged with people hurrying along with their arms full of bundles; out again into the open; by little houses half buried in snow, with a light shining dimly through their upper windows; on through forests of Christmas trees, hung with toys and not yet lighted, and presently in a wink were again at Santa Claus’s home, in a great hall. All along the sides were cases filled with all sorts of toys, guns, uniforms, sleds, skates, snow-shoes, fur gloves, fur coats, books, toy-dogs, ponies, goats, cows, everything.
