paper fluttered from an anchoring
pin to the floor. She picked it up. True to his peculiar custom, John
had presented his Christmas needs in a manner which seemed more delicate
than to ask in person for them. With a whimsical, sympathetic smile, she
rejoined her husband in the big bedroom.

"Look what your joking did last night!" She handed him the slip of
paper. He, too, chuckled tenderly, for the scrawl ran: "What I want for
Chrismas: Pictures, pretty ones, Picture frames, Chairs, Plates for
dinner, Knives, Spoons, Anything for a flat." A little space followed as
if the author had hesitated before he had added in heavier writing that
which told of a longing not to be denied, "Books, lots of them."

Christmas drew nearer. The delivery wagons from the down-town stores
made more and more frequent stops at the Fletchers, to leave odd-shaped
bundles in the hallway, bundles at which John would gaze longingly as if
to pierce the outer wrappings and excelsior. Watching the packages
arrive was half the fun of Christmas, anyway.

His own shopping list was small. He broached the subject of a gift for
his father to Mrs. Fletcher. Would she buy it, the next time she went to
town? "Then it'll be a surprise for dad." Likewise he approached Mr.
Fletcher. "Then mother won't know I'm buying her a book," he explained.
But he was uncertain what to order for Louise. He'd never made a present
to a girl before.

The Friday before the great holiday, the papers upset his plans. The
store of the _Toy Book_ announced that "Santa Claus leaves tomorrow for
his home at the North Pole. As a farewell inducement to the children of
this city to visit him, he will give a splendid present to each and
every girl or boy accompanied by an adult."

The North Pole part was all bosh. John knew that well, thanks to his
present sophistication. But the lure of the present set him to thinking.
Couldn't he--providing of course that maternal permission was given--go
down town and do his shopping Saturday afternoon and wander around the
different toy displays to his heart's content? But there was the paper
route. Blame the nuisance, anyway!

He sprinted up to see Bill after supper. Would his chum make the
deliveries if he gave him a list of the customers? John would be willing
to pay a dime for the service.

Silvey assented gladly, for ten-cent pieces were scarcities among the
small boy population just before Christmas, when the display of penny
and five-cen