He came in awkwardly and shook me by the hand.
"Forgive my unceremonious entry," he said. "I know I ought to have come down the chimney, but—well, you understand."
"Things are different this year," I suggested.
"Very different," he said gloomily. He put his sack down and took a seat on the other side of the fire-place.
"Anything for me?" I wondered, with an eye on the sack between us.
"Ah, there's no difference there," he said, brightening up as he drew out a big flat parcel. "The blotter from Aunt Emily. You needn't open it now; it's exactly the same as last year's."
I had been prepared for it. I took a letter from my pocket and dropped it in the sack.
"My letter of thanks for it," I explained. "Exactly the same as last year's too."
Father Christmas sighed and gazed into the fire.
"All the same," he said at last, "it's different, even with your Aunt Emily."