“Have you learned your multiplication tables?”
“Up to sevens,” answered Mary Louise. “I think I can say them, but I can’t always remember what seven times nine is and I forget seven times twelve.”
“That sounds as if you had tried fairly well,” the voice of Santa Clause commented. “There are a great many Christmas presents that you would like, I suppose?”
“Yes,” returned Mary Louise, “Oh, yes, Santa Claus! I just wrote you my letter and I hadn’t quite finished it when daddy came in and took it to mail, so maybe I’ll write another later on. I didn’t ask for any games or things. I might send another letter when I think of what I want. If you like, I will tell you the things that I asked for in my first letter if I can remember them. I want a big, big doll that can talk, and it must have real hair and shut and open its eyes and it must have blue eyes and real eye-lashes too. I asked for a pink silk dress and gloves, I think—I can’t remember. And there were to be two big Teddy bears with a growl and a squeak both—very big bears, one pure white and the other furry and brown. I want a white pony, too, and a white cart and harness. The letter will tell you all about that—I forget all that I said in the letter,” she explained. “It was ’most six pages long of big pad paper.”
“That was rather long,” chuckled Santa Claus.
“Yes,” smiled Mary Louise, “but I think I forgot to say that I wanted gloves for the doll.”
“I’m not sure I can bring the gloves,” Santa Claus said. “I think, however, that I might get the doll to you. Would you rather have a doll than the two Teddy bears?”
“I want both,” replied Mary Louise. It seemed strange that Santa Claus should not understand a thing, as simple as that! “Teddy bears are very po-pular, I know, but I guess you must have ever so many and you’ve usually brought me nicer things than you’ve given other little girls that I know.”
“Well, maybe I can bring a Teddy bear, if there’s one left over, Mary Louise, but I’m not at all sure I can bring the pony this year, you know. I’m afraid I’ve got to cut down on your presents, Mary Louise. That’s why I called up. I have something very, very important to ask you. I want to know if you can help me? I’m trying to distribute my gifts more—more properly this year. You know, of course, Mary Louise, that there are ever so many little children that do not get Christmas presents, especially in war time.”
“Are there?” inquired Mary Louise. “I suppose it’s the children who have been naughty.”
“Oh, no.”
“What is it, then?”
“It’s not because I forget them or because they are naughty,” explained Santa Claus’ voice. “It’s because too many goodies go to the rich little children. Then the poor little children who would like toys—they have nothing.”
“Oh,” gasped Mary Louise. “Then, I suppose you’ve given me more than my share?”
“I’m afraid so,” answered Santa.
“Don’t the poor children have anything?”
“Sometimes I’ve given to the wrong people,” came the evasive answer. “You see, I have a great deal to do. I ought to have a lot of people to help me. How can one person do it all! Sometimes I don’t find the right children and I use up the things that grow in the Santa Claus Land and then I have nothing left after the long, long lists are made up for the very particular little rich children.”
“Oh, dear!”
“Yes, that’s why. Do you want to give up some of your things this year so that they can go to the poor children?”
Mary Louise reflected. “Which?” she asked. “Do you mean the doll or the pony or the automobile or the new doll house?”
“You have about a hundred dolls, haven’t you?”
“No,” corrected Mary Louise, “only just seventy-six, counting the little bits of china ones in the doll house. Without these there are about forty—but only twenty are big ones.”
“Well,” chuckled Santa Claus, “that seems to me a good deal too many. You could give up the doll, I think. Suppose that you were a little girl who had never had any doll ever!”
“Well, but I’d like the pink doll—”
“I’ll tell you what,” Santa Claus suggested. “You think things over. Maybe I’ll find that I can spare a pink doll for you, after all. But I want you to help me look out for some of the poor children this year and I want you to buy at least six presents out of your very own money. I want you to find some children that I ought to know about. I want you to help them for me. I’ll telephone you some addresses where there are little poor children and you must write these down and keep them and see that the boys and girls have proper Christmas presents. Will you do it?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Santa Claus, gladly,” returned Mary Louise. “I have nineteen dollars in my bank, I think. My daddy will help me.”
“No, I don’t want your daddy to help you. It’s to be your very own money!”
“All right. I’ll not ask him. Of course I want to help you, Mr. Santa Claus. I’ll love to do it.”
“Well, good-bye. If I can, I’ll come on Christmas eve to your tree. You do the very best you can, Mary Louise, and invite the poor children to share your tree!”
The receiver was hung up at the other end of the line and Mary Louise stood bewildered before the library table where she had just written her long Christmas list. She stood there thinking it all over from beginning to end. She, she had been asked to help Santa Claus! It was a great distinction! Poor overworked Santa Claus had appealed to her as a very rich little girl who already had everything—and she mightn’t get the pink doll at all!
Then Mary Louise could not keep the secret any longer and she dashed up the stairs to mother’s room. She wouldn’t let mother go out of the room till she had told her the whole story and mother had a very important engagement and was all ready to go out in the car. Together they emptied Mary Louise’s bank and counted out exactly nineteen dollars and fifty-three cents. Mary Louise wanted to take it and start right out in the car to buy the presents, but with difficulty mother explained that she had better wait till Santa Claus sent in the names and she had found out what the children wanted.
And Santa Claus did telephone the names. Mary Louise was at dinner and James answered the telephone. Mary Louise felt badly that she had not been called, but there was no need to take her away from dinner; James had the addresses on the telephone pad, mother said. She was sure they were right.
Mary Louise wished daddy were home. It seemed to her that he would never come. As she felt sure she would need to buy a tree for the Christmas party, she got nurse to take her to that shop in the afternoon. But it is wonderful to think that a Christmas tree costs money! Before this, Mary Louise had never considered the subject. It was a very tall tree and it was an expensive tree. The charge for it ate into the nineteen dollars and fifty-three cents considerably. The things that went onto the tree must all be new. Santa Claus must see that Mary Louise had bought new ones to please him. So she bought ever so many-stars and birds, and balls of red, yellow, blue, green, white, silver, gold. And there was need of tinsel. If Mary Louise had had her own way, she would have spent almost all the nineteen dollars and fifty-three cents just on that tree without thinking of the consequences. Why, if she had, how could she have bought any presents for the poor children?
Next day, after having told daddy all about it, she wrote to the addresses that Santa Claus had given her. She wrote the letters in ink and used her very bestest best blue note-paper. All the letters were sealed with a Santa Claus sticker. It did take a great deal of time, I assure