Smell it, Anne;
ain't it sweet? And see here,"--he opened his chubby fist. "Fahver give
me five cents. I'm goin' to give it to Santa C'aus. And tell him to buy
him anyfing he wants wif it."
Anne hugged him heartily. "You dear, cute, generous, precious darling!"
she exclaimed.
Arthur drew away with sober dignity. Anne's caresses interfered with his
serious occupation. "I was w'iting Santa a letter," he explained. "But I
can't w'ite weal good. I'm fwead he can't wead it. Wouldn't you w'ite my
letter, Anne?" he asked, gazing doubtfully at his scribbling.
"That I will. I'll write just what you tell me," said Anne. "Give me the
pencil. And you may hold Honey-Sweet while I'm writing."
This was the letter:--
"Dear Santa Claus,--I thank you for the presents you gave me
last Christmas. I thank you for the presents you are going to give me
this Christmas. Santa Claus, the things in this sock are for you. I give
you a red rose. And a woolly dog. He can stand up if you prop him with
his tail. And five cents to buy you anything you want. I asked Martha
to put out the fire so you won't get burnt coming down the chimney.
Santa Claus, I wish you and Mrs.
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