Santa Claus a merry Christmas. And
good-by.
"Your loving friend,
"Arthur Marshall."
Arthur breathed a sigh of relief when the letter was sealed and the sock
containing it and the chosen gifts was hung by the mantel-piece. He lay
down on a goatskin rug and looked into the flickering fire, prattling
about what Santa Claus would say when he found the gifts. Presently he
dropped asleep.
Twilight fell. From the gray skies the snow came down steadily. The
small, hard flakes tinkled against the window-panes. A northeast wind
shook the elm-tree branches, rattled the windows, and moaned around the
house. Anne sat staring out into the gathering night. How bleak it was!
how lonely-looking! She shivered and hugged Honey-Sweet close.
"I'm terrible late," said Martha, bustling in and hurrying to draw the
curtains and light the gas. "We had to finish putting up the greens. And
Master Dunlop did bother so. Nothing would do but he must 'help.'
'Help,' I say! He's one of them chillen that no matter where you turn
he's in the way. You shall have tea now, Miss Anne. I know you're
starving. And my blessed baby's fast asleep on the floor! Why, Miss
Anne! You been crying! What's the matter, dear? Did that Dunlop--"
"Nobody.
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