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ON CHRISTMAS EVE
35
presence of Santa Claus into the Morris nursery
' ' Sh ! sh ! ' ' cautioned Grandfather ; "mustn't let anybody hear about him, you know. ' '
Grandfather's hopes of rejuvenation did not extend to the elder Morrises. The stocking ceremony was to be his secret — his and Peggy's and Paul's. The meager hoard of "pension money" under his socks in his bureau drawer was for that purpose. The children watched him, fascinated, small mouths ajar. This was the first touch of mystery that had ever entered their wise little lives, and they liked the flavor of it, even tho it had taken great subtlety and artfulness on the part of Grandfather to banish doubt as to the probability of there being a personage who would really give you something without afterward sending in his bill. He retold the tale now, leaving out no thrilling detail of North Poles or Donners and Blitzens, while they drank it in thirstily.
"I hope," sighed Peggy, at the conclusion — ' ' I hope he '11 bring me a
lim'sine for my dolly an' a di'mond ring an' a — a bushel of chocolut creams."
"I want a 'lectric railway an' a motorcycle," differed Paul. "Will Santa Claus bring zem, Gwanfaver?"
"No, no," warned Grandfather, hurriedly. The pension money did not include motorcycles. "Santa Claus doesn't bring common things like those. Maybe your father and mother will get them for you. Santa brings tin trumpets and peppermint sticks and rag dolls — just you wait and see ! "
The children sighed ecstatically. They had never owned a tin trumpet nor a rag doll. Then a burst of highpitched laughter dispelled Santa for the time. The guests were evidently enjoying themselves. Their thin, nasal voices rasped Grandfather's forehead into a frown. He put the children aside and went softly over to the portieres. Standing in his quaint coat and religious, white head against the crimson curtains, he made a patriarchal, Old Testament figure of disapproval that would have incensed
MRS. MORRIS WAS LOSING HEAVILY