t said good-by."
So back he went and lovingly
He kissed her cap awry.

Now Mrs. Claus is just a bit--
The least bit--of a shrew.
What wonder? Only think of it--
She has so much to do.
Imagine all the stocking-legs,
Of every size and shape,
That hang upon their Christmas pegs
With greedy mouths agape.

These she must fill, and when you see
The northern skies aflame
With quivering light, 'tis only she--
This very quaint old dame--
Striking a match against the Pole
Her whale-oil lamp to light,
That she may see to work, poor soul,
At making toys all night.

"Odd he should kiss me," this she said
Before the sleigh had gone;
"'Tis many a year since we were wed;
I'll follow him anon.
For faithless husbands, one and all,
Ere on their loves they wait,
Their wives' suspicion to forestall
Seem most affectionate."

So, pulling on her seal-skin sacque,
Into her husband's sleigh
She slipped, and hid behind his pack
Just as he drove away.
"Great Bears!" growled Santa in his beard,
"A goodly freight have I;
Were't fouler weather, I had feared
The glacier path to try."

Yet none the less they safely sped
Across the realms of snow--
The glittering planets overhead,
The sparkling frost below--
Until the reindeer stopped before
A mansion tall and fair,
Up to whose wide and lofty door
Inclined a marble stair.

So soundly all its inmates slept,
They heard no stroke of hoof;
No fall of foot as Santa leapt
From pavement unto roof.
So, down the chimney like a sweep
He crept, and after him
Went Mrs. Claus to have a peep
At chambers warm and dim.

As luck would have it, there was hung
A stocking by the fire
To wear which no one over-young
Could fittingly aspire:
Long, slender, graceful--it was just
The thing to fill the heart
Of Mrs. C. with deep distrust;
And--well--it played its part.

Scowling, she watched her husband fill
The silken foot and leg
With bonbons, fruit, and toys until
It almost broke its peg.
"My!" whispered Santa, "here's a crop.
This little boy is wise;
He knows I fill 'em to the top,
No matter what the size."

But Mrs. Claus misunderstood,
Like every jealous wife;
She _would_ make bad things out of good,
To feed her inward strife.
Snapped she unto herself: "The minx
Sha'n