If you will look at the picture of me in your new book (they call me St. Nicholas there), you'll see how fat I am; and how do you suppose I get down such a small place? I never could if I didn't love children so much, and if I hadn't done it for so many hundred years. But I began, you see, before I grew so fat; and so now I know the easiest way to do it.
I hope you'll have all you wanted this year; but you all grow so fast, and have so many wants from year to year, that I sometimes fear that I sha'n't always be able to satisfy you. Still, as it's only the good little children that I visit, I fancy they will be pleased, whatever I bring.
I must confess, though, that it isn't all guesswork. I know pretty well what my little folks want. But if you knew the amount of listening at doors and windows and registers, that I do to find out all these wants, you'd be astonished.
And now, if I don't hurry off, you'll be waking up, and catch me here; besides, I've staid a deal longer than I ought, for I've lots to do before daylight. But, seeing your mamma's desk and writing-materials so handy, I really couldn't help sitting down to write you a letter.
Tell your brother Walter, that as I brought him presents ten years before you came, he mustn't expect quite so many now; for he can have no idea how many little folks I have to provide for. And if my reindeers weren't the kindest, and strongest, and fleetest of creatures, we never could get through the amount of work we have to do "the night before Christmas."
Wishing you, and your brother, and papa, and mamma, a "Merry Christmas," I remain, with a heart full of love, yours,
Santa Claus.
