Harder still it was to imagine the
disappointment of her own young brothers, when Christmas morning
should reveal the empty little stockings that Santa Claus had
forgotten to fill.
"No, Jean," Mrs. Dwight had said sadly; "we can't have any
Christmas this year. I'm sorry to disappoint you and the children;
but with the uncertainty about father's going to work again, I
feel that it would be really wrong for us to use our money for
presents, when before winter is over, we may have to borrow some
for food or clothes."
And Jean saw the right of it. Still, she cried herself to sleep
that night, not so much for herself, as for the boys who had
talked of the children's fur-clad saint for a month past. But by
the next morning, Jean's inspiration had come. As soon as her work
was done, she shut herself into her room and ransacked her few
small stores. At least the boys should not be disappointed she
thought, as she selected this treasure and that from the meagre
number which she had hoarded with such care. A little planning and
contriving changed them to fit the present need, and Jean had put
them away until Christmas eve with the happy certainty that, at
any rate, the toes of the stockings would bulge a little, even if
the legs hung empty and lean.
Pages:
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187