So they went on, day after day, and they were just as happy as they could be. Finally the day came for gathering the very last of the Christmas gifts, because in six days it would be Christmas, and Santa Claus had to start out in a day or two.
So the Monks went into the garden to be sure that everything was perfect, and one of them wore his spectacles. When he came to the bed where the biggest dolls were growing, there stood Peter’s sister, smiling and swinging on her crutches.
“Why, what is that!” said the Monk. “I thought that doll didn’t come up. There is a doll there—and a doll on crutches, too.”
Then he put out his hand to touch the doll and she jumped,—she couldn’t help it. The Monk jumped too, and his Christmas wreath fell off his head.
“The doll is alive!” he exclaimed. “I will pick her and show her to my brothers.”
THE GOOD FATHER TOOK PETER’S LITTLE SISTER, CRUTCHES AND ALL, IN HIS ARMS.
Then the good father put on his Christmas wreath, took Peter’s little sister, crutches and all, in his arms, and carried her into the chapel.