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“Yes, I can remember the night,” said Santa Claus. “I brought you a sled, didn’t I?”

“Yes, and you brought Otis one, too,” replied Joel. “Mine was red and had ‘Yankee Doodle’ painted in black letters on the side; Otis’s was black and had ‘Snow Queen’ in gilt letters.”

“I remember those sleds distinctly,” said Santa Claus, “for I made them specially for you boys.”

“You set the sleds up against the wall,” continued Joel, “and then you filled the stockin’s.”

“There were six of ’em, as I recollect?” said Santa Claus.

“Let me see,” queried Joel. “There was mine, and Otis’s, and Elvira’s, and Thankful’s, and Susan Prickett’s–Susan was our help, you know. No, there were only five, and, as I remember, they were the biggest we could beg or borrer of Aunt Dorcas, who weighed nigh unto two hundred pounds. Otis and I didn’t like Susan Prickett, and we were hopin’ you’d put a cold potato in her stockin’.”

“But Susan was a good girl,” remonstrated Santa Claus. “You know I put cold potatoes only in the stockin’s of boys and girls who are bad and don’t believe in Santa Claus.”

“At any rate,” said Joel, “you filled all the stockin’s with candy and pop-corn and nuts and raisins, and I can remember you said you were afraid you’d run out of pop-corn balls before you got around. Then you left each of us a book. Elvira got the best one, which was ‘The Garland of Frien’ship,’ and had poems in it about the bleeding of hearts, and so forth. Father wasn’t expectin’ anything, but you left him a new pair of mittens, and mother got a new fur boa to wear to meetin’.”

“Of course,” said Santa Claus, “I never forgot father and mother.”

“Well, it was as much as I could do to lay still,” continued Joel, “for I’d been longin’ for a sled, an’ the sight of that red sled with ‘Yankee Doodle’ painted on it jest made me wild. But, somehow or other, I began to get powerful sleepy all at once, and I couldn’t keep my eyes open. The next thing I knew Otis was nudgin’ me in the ribs. ‘Git up, Joel,’ says he; ‘it’s Chris’mas an’ Santa Claus has been here.’ ‘Merry Chris’mas! Merry Chris’mas!’ we cried as we tumbled out o’ bed. Then Elvira an’ Thankful came in, not more ‘n half dressed, and Susan came in, too, an’ we just made Rome howl with ‘Merry Chris’mas! Merry Chris’mas!’ to each other. ‘Ef you children don’t make less noise in there,’ cried father, ‘I’ll hev to send you all back to bed.’ The idea of askin’ boys an’ girls to keep quiet on Chris’mas mornin’ when they’ve got new sleds an’ ‘Garlands of Frien’ship’!”

Santa Claus chuckled; his rosy cheeks fairly beamed joy.

“Otis an’ I didn’t want any breakfast,” said Joel. “We made up our minds that a stockin’ful of candy and pop-corn and raisins would stay us for a while. I do believe there wasn’t buckwheat cakes enough in the township to keep us indoors that mornin’; buckwheat cakes don’t size up much ‘longside of a red sled with ‘Yankee Doodle’ painted onto it and a black sled named ‘Snow Queen.’ We didn’t care how cold it was–so much the better for slidin’ downhill! All the boys had new sleds–Lafe Dawson, Bill Holbrook, Gum Adams, Rube Playford, Leander Merrick, Ezra Purple–all on ’em had new sleds excep’ Martin Peavey, and he said he calculated Santa Claus had skipped him this year ’cause his father had broke his leg haulin’ logs from the Pelham woods and had been kep’ indoors six weeks. But Martin had his ol’ sled, and he didn’t hev to ask any odds of any of us, neither.”

“I brought Martin a sled the next Christmas,” said Santa Claus.

“Like as not–but did you ever slide downhill, Santa Claus? I don’t mean such hills as they hev out here in this new country, but one of them old-fashioned New England hills that was made ‘specially for boys to slide down, full of bumpers an’ thank-ye-marms, and about ten times longer comin’ up than it is goin’ down! The wind blew in our faces and almos’ took our breath away. ‘Merry Chris’mas to ye, little boys!’ it seemed to say, and it untied our mufflers an’ whirled the snow in our faces, jist as if it was a boy, too, an’ wanted to play with us. An ol’ crow came flappin’ over us from the cornfield beyond the meadow. He said: ‘Caw, caw,’ when he saw my new sled–I s’pose he’d never seen a red one before. Otis had a hard time with his sled–the black one–an’ he wondered why it wouldn’t go as fast as mine would. ‘Hev you scraped the paint off’n the runners?’ asked Wralsey Goodnow. ‘Course I hev,’ said Otis; ‘broke my own knife an’ Lute Ingraham’s a-doin’ it, but it don’t seem to make no dif’rence–the darned ol’ thing won’t go!’ Then, what did Simon Buzzell say but that, like’s not, it was because Otis’s sled’s name was ‘Snow Queen.’ ‘Never did see a girl sled that was worth a cent, anyway,’ sez Simon. Well, now, that jest about broke Otis up in business. ‘It ain’t a girl sled,’ sez he, ‘and its name ain’t “Snow Queen”! I’m a-goin’ to call it “Dan’l Webster,” or “Ol’ver Optic,” or “Sheriff Robbins,” or after some other big man!’ An’ the boys plagued him so much about that pesky girl sled that he scratched off the name, an’, as I remember, it did go better after that!