He was short and jolly and round and fat,
With a fur trimmed coat and a fur trimmed hat.
He was dressed all in red. His hair was white and he wore a long, white beard. Never had Tuktu seen such a beard before. Eskimos have beards that are straggly and black. His eyes twinkled, like the twinkling of the stars on a frosty night. Around them were many fine wrinkles. They were laugh wrinkles. He was laughing now.
He laughed “Ha! Ha!” and he laughed “Ho! Ho!”
“Hello, little girl,” he cried, “Hello!
What are you doing alone up here?
Have you come in search of your straying deer?”
Poor Tuktu! She couldn’t find her tongue. She knew who this must be. She knew that this must be the Good Spirit—the Good Spirit whom no one had ever seen. She felt that she ought to slip from Whitefoot’s back and bow herself at the Good Spirit’s feet. But she couldn’t move. No, sir, she couldn’t move. When at last she could find her tongue, all she could do was to whisper, “Are you the Good Spirit?”
Those eyes looking at her in such a kindly
Tuktu and Santa Claus