er was hot--
And he dragged the young robber at once from the spot,
When he reached the hall light great was his surprise
To find his young master with tears in his eyes.

"I wanted your stocking," muttered Budd B.;
It is bigger than mine; boo hoo! I can't see,
And I'm all wet and cold." thus cried Budd aloud,
Until guests and his parents ran up in a crowd.

He was wrapped up with care and taken to bed,
But, strangest of all, not a harsh word was said.
He flattered himself as he fell asleep
That Hans and his friends the secret would keep.

Next morning, when Christmas songs filled all the air,
Budd found, to his grief and boyish despair,
That his neck was so stiff that he could not turn his head,
And must spend the whole day alone in his bed.

What was worse, his own stocking hung limp on a chair,
And on it these words were written most fair:
"To him who is greedy I leave less than all;
The world is so large and my reindeer so small.

"My pack is elastic when children are kind,
But it shuts with a snap and leaves nothing behind,
When a boy or girl is selfish or mean.
Good-bye, little Budd, I am off with my team.
(Signed) Santa Claus."

Christmas

Again the Christmas holidays have come,
We soon will hear the trumpet and the drum;
We'll hear the merry shout of the girls and boys
Rejoicing o'er their gifts of books and toys.

Old Santa Claus comes by at dead of night,
And down the chimney creeps--a funny sight;
He fills the stockings full of books and toys,
But puts in whips for naughty girls and boys.

One Christmas-eve the moon shone clear and bright;
I thought I'd keep awake and watch all night,
But it was silent all around and stilled,
Yet in the morn I found my stockings filled.

Christmas Morning

They put me in a square bed, and there they bade me sleep;
I must not stir; I must not wake; I must not even peep;
Right opposite that lonely bed, my Christmas stocking hung;
While near it, waiting for the morn, my Sunday clothes were flung.

I counted softly, to myself, to ten and ten times ten,
And went through all the alphabet, and then began again;
I repeated that Fifth-Reader piece--a poem called "Repose,"
And tried a dozen various ways to fall into a dose--

When suddenly the room grew light. I heard a soft, strong bound,
'Twas Santa Claus, I felt quite sure, but dared not look around.
'T