“I’ll swallow the book first, brown cover and all,” said Papa, making a funny face. He was pleased to see Katy so interested about anything again.
These delightful secrets took up so much of her thoughts, that Katy scarcely found time to wonder at the absence of the children, who generally haunted her room, but who for three days back had hardly been seen. However, after supper they all came up in a body, looking very merry, and as if they had been having a good time somewhere.
“You don’t know what we’ve been doing,” began Philly.
“Hush, Phil!” said Clover, in a warning voice. Then she divided the stockings which she held in her hand. And everybody proceeded to hang them up.
Dorry hung his on one side of the fireplace, and John hers exactly opposite. Clover and Phil suspended theirs side by side, on two handles of the bureau.
“I’m going to put mine here, close to Katy, so that she can see it the first fing in the morning,” said Elsie, pinning hers to the bed-post.
Then they all sat down round the fire to write their wishes on bits of paper, and see whether they would burn, or fly up the chimney. If they did the latter, it was a sign that Santa Claus had them safe, and would bring the things wished for.
John wished for a sled and a doll’s tea-set, and the continuation of the Swiss Family Robinson. Dorry’s list ran thus:
“A plum-cake,
A new Bibel,
Harry and Lucy,
A Kellidescope,
Everything else Santa Claus likes.”
When they had written these lists they threw them into the fire. The fire gave a flicker just then, and the papers vanished. Nobody saw exactly how. John thought they flew up chimney, but Dorry said they didn’t.
Phil dropped his piece in very solemnly. It flamed for a minute, then sank into ashes.
“There, you won’t get it, whatever it was!” said Dorry. “What did you write, Phil?”
“Nofing,” said Phil, “only just Philly Carr.”
The children shouted.
“I wrote ‘a writing-desk’ on mine,” remarked Elsie, sorrowfully, “But it all burned up.”
Katy chuckled when she heard this.
And now Clover produced her list. She read aloud:
“‘Strive and Thrive,’
A pair of kid gloves,
A muff,
A good temper!”
Then she dropped it into the fire. Behold, it flew straight up chimney.
“How queer!” said Katy; “none of the rest of them did that.”
The truth was, that Clover, who was a canny little mortal, had slipped across the room and opened the door just before putting her wishes in. This, of course, made a draft, and sent the paper right upward.
Pretty soon Aunt Izzie came in and swept them all off to bed.
“I know how it will be in the morning,” she said, “you’ll all be up and racing about as soon as it is light. So you must get your sleep now, if ever.”
After they had gone, Katy recollected that nobody had offered to hang a stocking up for her. She felt a little hurt when she thought of it. “But I suppose they forgot,” she said to herself.
A little later Papa and Aunt Izzie came in, and they filled the stockings. It was great fun. Each was brought to Katy, as she lay in bed, that she might arrange it as she liked.
The toes were stuffed with candy and oranges. Then came the parcels, all shapes and sizes, tied in white paper, with ribbons, and labelled.
“What’s that?” asked Dr. Carr, as Aunt Izzie rammed a long, narrow package into Clover’s stocking.
“A nail-brush,” answered Aunt Izzie; “Clover needed a new one.”
How Papa and Katy laughed! “I don’t believe Santa Claus ever had such a thing before,” said Dr. Carr.
“He’s a very dirty old gentleman, then,” observed Aunt Izzie, grimly.
The desk and sled were too big to go into any stocking, so they were wrapped in paper and hung beneath the other things. It was ten o’clock before all was done, and Papa and Aunt Izzie went away. Katy lay a long time watching the queer shapes of the stocking-legs as they dangled in the firelight. Then she fell asleep.
It seemed only a minute, before something touched her and woke her up. Behold, it was day-time, and there was Philly in his night-gown, climbing up on the bed to kiss her! The rest of the children, half dressed, were dancing about with their stockings in their hands.
“Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” they cried. “Oh, Katy, such beautiful, beau tiful things!”
“Oh!” shrieked Elsie, who at that moment spied her desk, “Santa Claus did bring it, after all! Why, it’s got ‘from Katy’ written on it! Oh, Katy, it’s so sweet, and I’m so happy.” and Elsie hugged Katy, and sobbed for pleasure.
But what was that strange thing beside the bed? Katy stared, and rubbed her eyes. It certainly had not been there when she went to sleep. How had it come?
It was a little evergreen tree planted in a red flower-pot. The pot had stripes of gilt paper stuck on it, and gilt stars and crosses, which made it look very gay. The boughs of the tree were hung with oranges, and nuts, and shiny red apples, and pop-corn balls, and strings of bright berries. There were also a number of little packages tied with blue and crimson ribbon, and altogether the tree looked so pretty, that Katy gave a cry of delighted surprise.
“It’s a Christmas-tree for you, because you’re sick, you know!” said the children, all trying to hug her at once.
“We made it ourselves,” said Dorry, hopping about on one foot; “I pasted the black stars on the pot.”
“And I popped the corn!” cried Philly.
“Do you like it?” asked Elsie, cuddling close to Katy. “That’s my present – that one tied with a green ribbon. I wish it was nicer! Don’t you want to open ‘em right away?”
Of course Katy wanted to. All sorts of things came out of the little bundles. The children had arranged every parcel themselves. No grown person had been allowed to help in the least.
Elsie’s present was a pen-wiper, with a gray flannel kitten on it. Johnnie’s, a doll’s tea-tray of scarlet tin.
“Isn’t it beau-ti-ful?” she said, admiringly.
Dorry’s gift, I regret to say, was a huge red-and-yellow spider, which whirred wildly when waved at the end of its string.
“They didn’t want me to buy it,” said he, “but I did! I thought it would amoose you. Does it amoose you, Katy?”
“Yes indeed,” said Katy, laughing and blinking as Dorry waved the spider to and fro before her eyes.
“You can play with it when we ain’t here and you’re all alone, you know,” remarked Dorry, highly gratified.
“But you don’t notice what the tree’s standing upon,” said Clover.
It was a chair, a very large and curious one, with a long-cushioned back, which ended in a footstool.
“That’s Papa’s present,” said Clover; “see, it tips back so as to be just like a bed. And Papa says he thinks pretty soon you can lie on it, in the window, where you can see us play.”