to Santa Claus. Tall, slim young women
yanked their little brothers into place or besought small sisters to
"Hush up, we're nearly there!" And up and down the whole line, a baker's
dozen of streets gamins skirmished on the lookout for some adult to whom
they might attach themselves for the time being.

Clearly that pointed the way to the little house and the fulfillment of
the gift promise.

John worked himself cautiously along the line in spite of cries of,
"Cheater, look at him!" from boys with maternal impediments to prevent
like maneuvers. When the white, asbestos snow-covered house came in
view, John halted discreetly, for, with the goal so near, he could not
risk being thrown out of the line for cutting ahead of others.

Slowly the people moved forward until the interior of the room was
visible through the little side window. At the far end of a wooden
counter, a fat, red-coated Santa Claus passed trinket after trinket into
eager juvenile hands, pausing now and then, as childish lips lisped
requests for dolls, sleds, or other toys.

On the very threshold, a stocky store employee interposed a hand in
front of John.

"Where's your folks?" he demanded.

The boy gasped. That condition of the distribution had been completely
forgotten.

"Well?" pressed the inquisitor, a smile about his lips.

He gazed about desperately. Just leaving the room was a buxom German
woman in black, with a hat covered with bobbing, blue-green plumes.

"There she is," he pointed. "That's my mother. I got separated from
her."

The man removed his arm and chuckled. At least three other urchins had
claimed relationship with that self-same lady.

Up to the old saint at last. His ruddy-cheeked mask was softened by
perspiration, and there was a droop about his red-clad shoulders which
expressed a wish that this, the last day of his sojourn in the city,
were already over. John grabbed the cheap pencil box which was handed
him. The guardian at the exit was crying, "Keep moving, keep moving,"
and the lethargic line in obedience carried John beyond the confines of
the house to new wonders.

If the Brownie Village forced staid adults to pause and smile
appreciatively at the whimsicalities of gnome life, the juveniles halted
and dragged and impeded the progress of the procession as each new
wonder confronted them.

White-furred little bunnies moved solemnly along at intervals over
concealed runways, stopping now and then to bow to the am