She sat beside him, silent, when outside the door came the tread and tap which they were both expecting. And somewhat to her bewilderment Mother Margaret admitted four visitors. There was the kindly, practical woman; and the librarian with the pleasant eyes; and the maid with the Dear Child in her arms.
She set the Dear Child down, and the Dear Child ran to Tony’s bed, and in her hands was a box.
“Little boy!” she shouted. “See what! See what!”
She laid something beside him. And when, trembling a little with the wonder of it, Tony had unwound this, there lay his longed-for clay and some unbelievable modeling tools. Mother Margaret’s eyes flew to the librarian. And the look of the two women met and clung, with something living in the faces of them both. And so it came about that when the maid drew the little tree from the room, Tony hardly knew.
They went away with happy greetings, and waving hands, and promises to meet again.
“I—I—I—bring you my kitty and my fimbel!” shouted the Dear Child kissing her hand. “That other day,” she added importantly.
An hour later Tony opened his eyes sleepily.
“Make a great big racket, Mother Margaret!” he surprisingly demanded.
“Why, dear?” she asked.
“’Cause if I go to sleep, then it won’t be Christmas any more,” said Tony, and drifted off with his smile still on his face.