rs up the other side, Dave," he advised.

"There isn't any nail," cried David, investigating.

"I'll drive one," said Joel, so he ran out to the tool-house, as one
corner of the wood-shed was called, and brought in the hammer and one or
two nails.

"Phronsie's a-goin' in the middle," he said, with a nail in his mouth.

"Yes, I'm a-goin' to hang up my stockin'," cried the child, hopping from
one toe to the other.

"Run get it, Phronsie," said Joel, "and I'll hang it up for you.

"Why, it's two days before Christmas yet," said Polly, laughing; "how
they'll look hanging there so long."

"I don't care," said Joel, giving a last thump to the nail; "we're
a-goin' to be ready. Oh, dear! I wish 'twas to-night!"

"Can't Seraphina hang up her stocking?" asked Phronsie, coming up to
Polly's side; "and Baby, too?"

"Oh, let her have part of yours," said Polly, "that'll be
best--Seraphina and Baby, and you have one stocking together."

"Oh, yes," cried Phronsie, easily pleased; "that'll be best." So for
the next two days, they were almost distracted; the youngest ones asking
countless questions about Santa Claus, and how he possibly could get
down the chimney, Joel running his head up as far as he dared, to see if
it was big enough.

"I guess he can," he said, coming back in a sooty state, looking very
much excited and delighted.

"Will he be black like Joey?" asked Phronsie, pointing to his grimy
face.

"No," said Polly; "he don't ever get black."

"Why?" they all asked; and then, over and over, they wanted the
delightful mystery explained.

"We never'll get through this day," said Polly in despair, as the last
one arrived. "I wish 'twas to-night, for we're all ready."

"Santy's coming! Santy's coming!" sang Phronsie, as the bright afternoon
sunlight went down over the fresh, crisp snow, "for it's night now."

"Yes, Santa is coming!" sang Polly; and "Santa Claus is coming," rang
back and forth through the old kitchen, till it seemed as if the three
little old stockings would hop down and join in the dance going on so
merrily.

"I'm glad mine is red," said Phronsie, at last, stopping in the wild
jig, and going up to see if it was all safe, "cause then Santy'll know
it's mine, won't he, Polly?"

"Yes, dear," cried Polly, catching her up. "Oh, Phronsie! you are going
to have a Christmas!"

"Well, I wish," said Joel, "I had my name on mine! I know Dave'll get
some of my things."

"Oh, no, Joe," said Mrs. Pep