't
any Santa Claus."

"Why, Ned!" cried Mamie, in astonishment. "Even my big brother Harry
believes in Santa Claus. He's coming home from school to-night, and
we're going to hang up our stockings."

"Pshaw!" said Ned, "I must go home. Good-bye."

Merry little Mamie stood in amazement, and then ran in-doors to her
mother with her perplexity.

"Why, mother!" she cried, "Ned Huntley said there wasn't any Santa
Claus--and he was real cross about it, too."

"Well, Mamie," said her mother, "I wouldn't take any notice of Ned's
being cross about Christmas-time. The Huntleys don't keep Christmas."

"Don't keep Christmas!" exclaimed Mamie, astonished beyond measure.

Seeing that her mother was busy, she took her doll, Helena Margaret
Constance Victorine, in her arms, and talked the matter over with her.

"What do you think, my dear," said she, "they don't keep Christmas
at Ned Huntley's house! I don't know just what mother means by not
keeping it, for you know Santa Claus comes down the chimney, and so he
can get in during the night and leave Christmas there. Oh, yes, but
they don't keep it. They turn it out, I suppose, just like mother told
me they acted about the dear little baby Savior; they hadn't any room
for him, and I guess Mrs. Huntley hasn't any room to keep Christmas
in. I wonder what she does with the Christmas things Santa Claus
brings? I wonder if she throws 'em away? I mean to go and ask her;"
and putting her child carefully in its cradle, Mamie started.

There was some truth in what Mrs. Gaston had told her little daughter;
the Huntleys did not keep Christmas in a loving, hearty way. They kept
it in so far that on this very afternoon Mrs. Huntley was busy making
the mince pies, dressing the turkey, and doing all she could to be
beforehand with the extra Christmas dinner. Mr. Huntley had just
stepped into the kitchen for a moment to say to his wife, "What have
you settled on for Ned's Christmas?"

"I've bought him a pair of arctics--he needed 'em; and if you want to
spend more than common, you might get him half a dozen handkerchiefs."

"Well, wife, I was thinking that perhaps"--the farmer tried to be
particular about his words, for Mrs. Huntley did not seem in a very
good humor--"I was remembering how you used to enjoy giving the young
ones candies and toys; so, perhaps--"

"Now, Noah Huntley, I'm surprised at you! Buy candies and toys for a
great lumbering boy like Ned? Why, you must be crazy, man! T