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Then he hung up the receiver.

“As long as Santy will be here so soon, we’d better wait till he comes, and let him distribute the presents, don’t you think?”

He paused a minute, trying to remember.

“Let me see–when was it I last saw him?–yes, yes–it’s all of forty years. I was just a little shaver then. I wonder if he’s changed much, or grown much older.”

As for the children, they could hardly think, much less talk. They sat there, almost in a daze, blinking and looking at the little candles, which seemed to wink back at them as if they had been in the jolly secret all the time.

The youngsters had hardly gotten over their wonder and bewilderment, when they heard sleighbells, and a loud “Whoa–whoa–you old reindeer, whoa when I tell you!” Then there was a stamping on the porch and the old brass knocker was lifted–it fell–“clack, clack”; the door opened, and in walked the welcome guest.

Have you yourself ever seen Santa Claus, or only pictures of him? Well, he really looks like his pictures, only more human–like people you know and love, though of course more magnificent.

In the first place, he wasn’t so fat–he was plump in the stomach, but not so really round all over as in the old pictures of him. But perhaps that is because when they were taken there weren’t so many children in the world to make things for, and he has grown just a little thinner since then, being so busy, you know.

However, he had on the same red coat trimmed with white fur, the long beard falling down over his chest, and the belt, and the rubber boots, and the red woolen cap on his head. But his face had lost a little flesh, and it wasn’t all red as you see in the pictures, but brown and red,–like–like–the Toyman’s; and his eyes didn’t pop out of his head either, but were just like ordinary people’s eyes, only kinder, like the Toyman’s, and these, the children said, were the kindest in the world.

Marmaduke wished the Toyman would come back, so that he might meet Santa, for he was a year-round Santa himself, always making things and doing things for little boys.

But Santa was talking:

“Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” he said, then he added,–“to one and all.”

At the sound of his voice the children forgot their wonder and awe, and hurried to him and clasped his knees, and little Johnny Cricket tried to reach for his crutches, but Santa just picked him up in his arms and kissed him and little Hepzebiah too.

Now Father stood up.

“Mr. Santa Claus,” he began, but Santy interrupted him,–

“No Mister for me,” he told Father, “we’re among friends. I’ve known you all ever since you were born. Ho! Ho!” and he laughed, and his laugh seemed very jolly.

“Very well,” replied Father, “pardon my mistake–Friend Santy, then. Would you be so good as to distribute the presents?”

“Deelighted!” said Santy with a bow, “Marmaduke, you hand ’em to me and I’ll read off the names.”

So Marmaduke got down on his knees near the pile of presents and picked out one. It was one of his own–not one for him but one he had bought–for Mother. He couldn’t wait to see that look he knew would come in her eyes.

She opened it. It was a nice work-basket.

“And my little boy bought it all with the pennies he saved.–I know that,” she cried in delight, and that look he had waited for shone in her face.

Then came a big long box which Santy handed to Hepzebiah. Santy himself helped her to tear off the wrappings; and lo and behold! it was a great big doll with blue eyes and flaxen hair.

So back and forth the procession of presents passed,–a pipe for Father, and one for the Toyman, who wasn’t there to get it, a football for Marmaduke, a pair of skates for Jehosophat, and oh, so many things!