At last Christmas Eve came, and grandma and grandpa were there, and the children hung up their stockings, and Bessie said that grandma and grandpa must be sure and hang up theirs too; then, after they had gone to bed, the smaller children whispered for a long time about Santa Claus and listened to hear his sleigh bells on the roof.
"I don't see how he can get down the chimney," whispered Bessie. "You know he's so fat in all his pictures."
"Maybe he takes off his coat," whispered Clara, "then he wouldn't be quite so big." But she didn't see how he could get down the chimney, either.
Once or twice they were sure they heard him on the roof, and they
covered up their heads so he wouldn't think they were peeping, and at last they went to sleep before they knew it.
Willie and Tom were just as anxious as the little girls, and whispered just as much, and they all dreamed of Santa Claus.
