g toots of a tin
horn were announcing the approach of Santa Claus. Before the little girl
had finished, and in spite of the teacher's admonition, the children
were standing up and looking expectantly toward the rear; and no sooner
had the little girl taken her seat, than they broke forth into excited
chatter, calling to one another eagerly. Then the door was suddenly
thrust open to the sound of a shrill toot, and Santa Claus came
bounding in.

Amid the din of the horn and the shouts of the children, he clambered
forward to the platform, bobbing to right and left, and tweaking the
ears of those he passed. Long, yellow rope hair hung down from under a
round, scarlet cap, and a rope beard reached to his portly waist. Cotton
snow and another kind that melted promptly in the warm room covered his
shoulders and sleeves. In a gruff though merry voice that sounded above
all the others, he sang out the names pinned to an armful of candy-bags.

One by one, big and little hurried up to receive their gifts of sweets.
The little girl evinced none of the delight that shone on the faces of
the other children. She watched the distribution silently, with no glad
throbs of the heart, and took her share of the fruit and candy with
downcast eyes. Her mother sorrowfully noted that, even when the bags and
cornucopias had been given out and Santa turned his attention to the
pile around the churn, her interest did not increase.

She watched dully as the girls skipped boldly up, with proud, knowing
looks, to seize their presents, or the boys sidled forward bashfully
with changing color. All unwrapped and admired their gifts as soon as
they were back in their seats. The Dutchman's girls shrieked with joy
as they undid their presents, the neighbor woman's daughter could
scarcely hold her share in her best apron. "Frenchy's" brother had
distended pockets. The young farmer's baby crowed in purple delight over
the stack of parcels before him.

The little girl's lap was empty, save for the candy and fruit dropped
carelessly into it. When the pile around the churn had dwindled sorely
and but a dozen gifts remained, the little girl had not yet gone forward
to claim one. The other children had been too occupied to notice her ill
fortune until they had spent their first joy over their gifts. Then one
of the Dutchman's girls elbowed the neighbor woman's son, who sat next
her, to call his attention to the little girl, and he passed the news
on. Soon al