Nan. He won't put much in your stocking, Tommy Franklin.
Mary (softly). 'Sh! Lucy's sound asleep, little sweetheart.
Nan. You've hung up the biggest stocking of any of us. What did you hang up your stocking for if there isn't any Santa Claus?
Tommy (with pretended indifference). Oh, just out of habit, I s'pose. Just 'cause I always have. And I know well enough who'll fill it. It isn't any old humbug of a Santa Claus.
[While they have been talking and singing the children have hung their stockings in a row on the mantel. Tommy's being a conspicuously large and long one. A faint tinkle of sleigh-bells is now heard. It comes nearer and nearer, and finally stops. The children listen intently.]
Nan (in an excited whisper). I believe he's come!
Mary. Oh, hark!
Tommy. I tell you, Santa Claus is a great big humbug.
[A loud jingling of bells is heard, and a great stamping of feet at the door. Lucy wakes and rubs her eyes. Tommy tries to look unconcerned. Nan, half frightened, draws closer to Mary, and, as the last word drops from Tommy's lips, Santa Claus enters with a bound. The children make inarticulate exclamations of rapture and delight, and watch the movements of Santa Claus with wide-open eyes. Santa Claus, after depositing his pack on the floor, proceeds to the business of filling the stockings.]
Santa Claus (chuckling to himself). Well, well, well! Here's a nice row of stockings—a nice row of dear children's stockings! And here are the blessed children themselves waiting patiently till I don't know what o'clock at night, just to catch a glimpse of old Santa. That's the way with the darlings. They know who loves them. They know—oh yes, yes!—they know old Santa.