“Peter?” said the abbot; “the Peter who works in our garden?”
“Yes,” said the little sister.
The Monks looked at each other in dismay. This was not a miracle, it was only Peter’s little sister!
But the abbot of the Christmas Monks spoke to them. “This little girl did not come up in the place of the wax doll, and she is not a miracle. But she is sweet and beautiful, and we all love her.”
“Yes,” said the Christmas Monks, and they laid their presents down before her.
Peter was so happy he danced for joy. And when he found his little sister was cured of her lameness, he did not know what to do.
In the afternoon he took his sister and went home to see his father and mother. Santa Claus filled his sleigh with gifts and drove his reindeer down to the cottage.
Oh! it was such a happy day. There was so much to tell that they all talked at once. There was so much to see that their eyes ached with looking.
But in the palace of the King it was very different. The Prince was cross and unhappy. His old toys were broken. He was tired of his old games. There was no one for him to play with, and he didn’t have one single Christmas gift.
—Mary E. Wilkins (abridged and adapted).