Hush! _says_ POLLY _quickly_. Yes, it's the very same kind of
a doll I asked for. See, Mother, she has a pink sash. Isn't she lovely?
Now, Jack, _says_ FATHER, I think it is your turn next. What is in
that box of yours? Slate pencils, probably.
Slate pencils! _says_ JACK, _indignantly_. You know I didn't
want slate pencils.
But are you sure you will get just what you want? _asks_ FATHER.
Yes, indeed I am, _answers_ JACK, _pulling out the box and
opening it_, and there it is--a soldier. I knew it would be that,
because I saw it when--
Hush! _says_ POLLY _quickly_. Father, it is now your turn at last.
And I know all about mine, _says_ FATHER. It is soft and squashy,
so of course it's a sponge. Now why do you suppose Santa Claus brought
me a sponge? for my old one is quite good enough.
But it isn't a sponge at all, _cries_ JACK, _who has been peeking
into the little bundle_.
Not a sponge? _says_ FATHER. But what is it, then? _He opens the
paper_. A pair of warm gloves, I declare--just what I need. Well,
Santa Claus is a great old fellow, and no mistake.
_Mother has been turning her head toward the window, as though she
were listening to something, and now she says:_
Hush! Is that singing that I hear, far away?
_They all listen, and sure enough from some distance can be heard the
sound of singing voices. The children, nodding their heads, show that
they hear it._
What can it be? _says_ MOTHER. Why, I know; it's the Christmas
Waits, of course, singing carols from house to house.
Oh, I wish they would sing in our street, _cries_ POLLY, _and
runs to the window. Then she exclaims,_ There they are: they are
coming around the corner.
_The others all go toward the window, and_ JACK _says
delightedly._ One of them has a fiddle. Oh, I do hope they will stop
here.
_Then outside the window the Christmas Waits can be seen, all in warm
caps and mittens and mufflers. They stop just in front of the window,
hold up their music before them, and begin to sing the dear old carol,
called_: