“Robby Morgan!” said Santa Claus.
In his excitement that small lad nearly upset the cart, but Santa did not notice it.
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven”—Rob’s breath came very short—“whites!”
He almost clapped his hands.
“One, two, three, blacks! Now I wonder what that little chap would like—here’s a drum, a box of tools, a knife, a menagerie. If he hadn’t run away from school that day and then told a lie about it I’d give him a rocking-horse.”
Rob groaned in anguish of spirit.
“But, bless him! he’s a fine little fellow, and perhaps he will do better next year if I give him the horse.”
That was too much for our boy. With a “Hurrah!” he jumped up and turned a somersault right at Santa Claus’s feet.
“Stars and stripes!” cried Santa. “What’s this?”
“Come along, I’ll show you the one!” cried Rob.