Brought our mother a Christmas gift!”
And the two little faces in the picture smiled down upon the happy family cheerfully, then and ever after.
[1] This story was first printed in “Youth’s Companion,” December 21, 1916. Reprinted by special permission of the author and “Youth’s Companion.”
THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS[2]
Edith Houghton Hooker
Everybody’s hands were quite full of little pin-pricks from the holly leaves. Alan and David and little Alice had all been helping with the Christmas greens, and at last the wreaths were securely fastened on tiny tacks in the windows, and sprays of holly peeped festively out from behind each picture. There was a large red paper bell hanging from the chandelier in the hall for Santa Claus to ring when he came in, and beside it a sprig of mistletoe, so there would be no embarrassment about kissing him in case he should be caught.
It was Christmas eve, and we all gathered around the fire to rest after our labors and to speculate about the prospects for the morrow. “Suppose he doesn’t come,” surmised David, “or suppose he would bring us only switches!” The thought was terrifying.
“It all depends on what you deserve,” I answered. “Santa Claus has a way, you know, of finding out just what each child really ought to get.”
“Well,” said Alan, the skeptic, “there are some who say there isn’t any Santa Claus—that he’s just a story made up by older people to amuse the children. I never knew of any one who’d seen him.”
Alice gasped. “You will get only switches, Alan, if you say such things,” she warned him.