"Does Santa Claus bring dolls?" asked Mary, suddenly, of Jack.
"Oh yes; dolls with pretty dresses on; and little bunnits and pink shoes; and little cubberds to keep their clothes in, and chairs, and everything," said Jack, enthusiastically.
"Oh, my!" sighed Mary, as she looked dolefully at their poor little heap of toys.
Reader, their dolls were cobs, with square pieces of calico tied around them for dresses; and after hearing what Jack said, it wasn't so much fun playing, and the little girls soon went to bed. After they were asleep, Mrs. Boyd said, reproachfully:
"Jack, I wish you wouldn't say anything more about Christmas to the children."
"Why, is it bad?" asked Jack, so astonished that he stopped whittling.
"No, of course not; but you're getting their heads full of notions about fine things they never can have."
Jack's eyes twinkled.
"Oh, but you don't understand, mother," said he; "may be Santy Claus will come this year."
His mother shook her head.