I'm not going to shut--my--eyes--all--night--long," he
said emphatically.
"Marfa, don't put on any more coal," begged Arthur. "I so fwead Santa
C'aus'll get burnted."
The Christmas saint accepted Arthur's offering in the loving spirit in
which it was made and there was a letter of thanks in the sock around
which were heaped more pretty things than he had remembered he wanted.
Dunlop examined his many gifts with shrieks of delight. His one regret
was that he didn't see Santa Claus--if there was a Santa Claus. He knew
he didn't go to sleep last night--but he didn't remember anything till
Martha was kindling the fire this morning.
By Anne's breakfast plate were several dainty packages,--a copy of
_Little Lord Fauntleroy_, a box of dominoes, an embroidered
handkerchief, a box of chocolate creams. And Martha gave Honey-Sweet
pink-flowered muslin for a new dress.
Breakfast passed in wild confusion. Martha was imploring Dunlop not to
eat any more candy or raisins or oranges or figs or nuts. "You'll be
sick," she said. "And goodness knows, Master Dunlop, you're hard enough
to live with best of times when you're well. Do--don't blow your horn,
Master Dunlop--or beat your drum--or toot your engine--your poor mamma
has such a headache.
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