I was sitting in front of the fire--dozing, I daresay--when he was
announced.
"Father Christmas."
He came in awkwardly and shook me by the hand.
"Forgive my unceremonious entry," he said. "I know I ought to have come
down the chimney, but--well, _you_ understand."
"Things are different this year," I suggested.
"Very different," he said gloomily. He put his sack down and took a seat
on the other side of the fire-place.
"Anything for me?" I wondered, with an eye on the sack between us.
"Ah, there's no difference _there_," he said, brightening up as he drew
out a big flat parcel. "The blotter from Aunt Emily. You needn't open it
now; it's exactly the same as last year's."
I had been prepared for it. I took a letter from my pocket and dropped
it in the sack.
"My letter of thanks for it," I explained. "Exactly the same as last
year's too."
Father Christmas sighed and gazed into the fire.
"All the same," he said at last, "it's different, even with your Aunt
Emily."
"Tell me all about it. To begin with, why didn't you come down the
chimney?"
"The reindeer." He threw up his hands in despair. "Gone!"
"How?"
"Filleted."