y did you ever think of it?"

_Fountain_: "To keep from going mad. Come, let's go on with this job
of sorting the presents, and putting them in the stockings and hanging
them up on the tree and laying them round the trunk of it. One thing:
it's for the last time. As soon as Christmas week is over, I shall
inaugurate an educational campaign against the whole Christmas
superstition. It must be extirpated root and branch, and the
extirpation must begin in the minds of the children; we old fools are
hopeless; we must die in it; but the children can be saved. We must
organize and make a house-to-house fight; and I'll begin in our own
house. To-morrow, as soon as the children have made themselves
thoroughly sick with candy and cake and midday dinner, I will appeal
to their reason, and get them to agree to drop it; to sign the
Anti-Christmas pledge; to--"

_Mrs. Fountain_: "Clarence! I have an idea."

_Fountain_: "Not a _bright_ one?"

_Mrs. Fountain_: "Yes, a bright one, even if you didn't originate it.
Have Christmas confined entirely to children--to the very youngest--to
children that believe firmly in Santa Claus."

_Fountain_: "Oh, hello! Wouldn't that leave Jim and Susy out? I
couldn't have _them_ left out."

_Mrs. Fountain_: "That's true. I didn't think of that. Well, say, to
children that either believe or _pretend_ to believe in him. What's
_that_?" She stops at a faint, soft sound on the door. "It's Maggie
with her hands so full she's pushing with her elbow. Come in, Maggie,
come in. _Come_ in! Don't you hear me? Come in, I say! Oh, it isn't
Maggie, of course! It's those worthless, worthless little wretches,
again." She runs to the door calling out, "Naughty, naughty, naughty!"
as she runs. Then, flinging the door wide, with a final cry of
"_Naughty_, I say!" she discovers a small figure on the threshold,
nightgowned to its feet, and looking up with a frightened, wistful
face. "Why, Benny!" She stoops down and catches the child in her arms,
and presses him tight to her neck, and bends over, covering his head
with kisses. "What in the world are you doing here, you poor little
lamb? Is mother's darling walking in his sleep? What did you want, my
pet? Tell mudda, do! Whisper it in mudda's big ear! Can't you tell
mudda? What? Whisper a little louder, love! We're not angry with you,
sweetness. Now, try to speak louder. Is that Santa Claus? No, dearest,
that's just dadda. Santa Claus hasn't come yet, but he will soo