on did not know,
even by name, more than one-half of the young folks she had undertaken
to make happy that day; but that made no manner of difference, and
the children had not the least idea that Santa Claus had their
stockings all hung up in this room, until suddenly the doors were
opened, and there was the great hickory-wood fire, and the sunlight
streaming in, and the stockings, fat and bulging, hanging in rows.
Some were red, and some were blue, and some were white, and some were
mixed. Grand old Mrs. Livingston stood within the room, her white
curls shining and her stiff brocade trailing.

"Come in, children," she said, and in they trooped, silent with awe
and wonder at the sight they saw. The lady arranged them side by side,
in lines, on the two sides of the room where the stockings were not,
and then she said:

"Santa Claus, come forth!"

In yonder corner there began a motion in the branches of the evergreen
tree, and such a Santa Claus as crept forth was never seen before. He
was bulgy with furs from crown to foot, but he made a low curve over
toward Mrs. Livingston, and then nodded his head about the lines of
children.

"Good day to you, this Christmas," he said.

"Wish you Merry Christmas, Santa Claus," said Philip, with a bow.

"Here's business," said Santa Claus. "Stockings, let me see. Whoever
owns the stocking that I take down from the line, will step forward
and take it."

Every single one of the children knew his or her own property, at a
glance. Santa Claus had a busy time of it handing down stockings, and
a few minutes later he escaped without notice, and was seen no more
that year, in Fort Safety.

After the stockings came dinner, and such a dinner as it was! Whatever
there was not, I remember that it was told to me that there was great
abundance of English plum-pudding. After dinner came games and more
happiness, and after the last game, came time to go home. The sweet
clear afternoon suddenly became dark with clouds, and it began to snow
soon after the first load set off. One or two followed, and by the
time the last one was ready to start, Mrs. Livingston looked forth and
said "not another child should leave her roof that night in such a
blinding storm."

Eight little hands clapped their new mittens together in token of joy,
but poor little Mixie Brownson began to cry. She had never in her life
been away from the brown house.

Tea was served, and Mixie was comforted for a short time.