Upon the whole, she seemed rather proud of her position.  It was evident she quite regarded herself as hostess.  She held her small bald head very high indeed, as she trotted on before them.  She stopped at the first door she came to, and knocked three times.  She was obliged to stand upon tiptoe to reach the knocker.

“He’s sure to be at home at this time of year,” she remarked.  “This is the busy season.”

“Who’s ’he’?” inquired Jem.

But Flora only laughed at Miss Baby’s consequential air.

“S.C., to be sure,” was the answer, as the young lady pointed to the door-plate, upon which Jem noticed, for the first time, “S.C.” in very large letters.

The door opened, apparently without assistance, and they entered the apartment.

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Jem, the next minute.  “Good_ness_ gracious!”

She might well be astonished.  It was such a long room that she could not see to the end of it, and it was piled up from floor to ceiling with toys of every description, and there was such bustle and buzzing in it that it was quite confusing.  The bustle and buzzing arose from a very curious cause, too,—­it was the bustle and buzz of hundreds of tiny men and women who were working at little tables no higher than mushrooms,—­the pretty tiny women cutting out and sewing, the pretty tiny men sawing and hammering and all talking at once.  The principal person in the place escaped Jem’s notice at first; but it was not long before she saw him,—­a little old gentleman, with a rosy face and sparkling eyes, sitting at a desk, and writing in a book almost as big as himself.  He was so busy that he was quite excited, and had been obliged to throw his white fur coat and cap aside, and he was at work in his red waistcoat.

“Look here, if you please,” piped Baby, “I have brought some one to see you.”

When he turned round, Jem recognized him at once.

“Eh!  Eh!” he said.  “What!  What!  Who’s this, Tootsicums?”

Baby’s manner became very acid indeed.

“I shouldn’t have thought you would have said that, Mr. Claus,” she remarked.  “I can’t help myself down below, but I generally have my rights respected up here.  I should like to know what sane godfather or godmother would give one the name of ‘Tootsicums’ in one’s baptism.  They are bad enough, I must say; but I never heard of any of them calling a person ‘Tootsicums.’”

“Come, come!” said S.C., chuckling comfortably and rubbing his hands.  “Don’t be too dignified,—­it’s a bad thing.  And don’t be too fond of flourishing your rights in people’s faces,—­that’s the worst of all, Miss Midget.  Folks who make such a fuss about their rights turn them into wrongs sometimes.”

Then he turned suddenly to Jem.

“You are the little girl from down below,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” answered Jem.  “I’m Jem, and this is my friend Flora,—­out of the blue book.”