Arthur followed his own course of thought, without regard to Anne’s questions.  “One sock is for me,” he said.  “I hope Santa’ll ’member and give me what I asked him.”

“What did you ask him to bring you, honey?” inquired Anne.

Arthur looked at her gravely.  “I’se forgot.  Was so many fings.  And one sock is for Santa C’aus.  I’m going to fill it all full of fings.  A apple.  And popcorn balls—­Marfa made ’em.  And my dear woolly dog’s for Santa.  Will he care if it’s foot’s bwoke?”

“But, Arthur darling,” suggested Anne, “I wouldn’t give the woolly dog away.  You love it best of all your toys.”

“Yes, I do,” agreed Arthur.  “Old Santa’ll love him, too.  And I’ll give him my wed wose.  Mamma wored it to her party las’ night.  Smell it, Anne; ain’t it sweet?  And see here,”—­he opened his chubby fist.  “Fahver give me five cents.  I’m goin’ to give it to Santa C’aus.  And tell him to buy him anyfing he wants wif it.”

Anne hugged him heartily.  “You dear, cute, generous, precious darling!” she exclaimed.

Arthur drew away with sober dignity.  Anne’s caresses interfered with his serious occupation.  “I was w’iting Santa a letter,” he explained.  “But I can’t w’ite weal good.  I’m fwead he can’t wead it.  Wouldn’t you w’ite my letter, Anne?” he asked, gazing doubtfully at his scribbling.

“That I will.  I’ll write just what you tell me,” said Anne.  “Give me the pencil.  And you may hold Honey-Sweet while I’m writing.”

This was the letter:—­

“Dear Santa Claus,—­I thank you for the presents you gave me last Christmas.  I thank you for the presents you are going to give me this Christmas.  Santa Claus, the things in this sock are for you.  I give you a red rose.  And a woolly dog.  He can stand up if you prop him with his tail.  And five cents to buy you anything you want.  I asked Martha to put out the fire so you won’t get burnt coming down the chimney.  Santa Claus, I wish you and Mrs. Santa Claus a merry Christmas.  And good-by.

     “Your loving friend,

          “Arthur Marshall.”

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief when the letter was sealed and the sock containing it and the chosen gifts was hung by the mantel-piece.  He lay down on a goatskin rug and looked into the flickering fire, prattling about what Santa Claus would say when he found the gifts.  Presently he dropped asleep.

Twilight fell.  From the gray skies the snow came down steadily.  The small, hard flakes tinkled against the window-panes.  A northeast wind shook the elm-tree branches, rattled the windows, and moaned around the house.  Anne sat staring out into the gathering night.  How bleak it was! how lonely-looking!  She shivered and hugged Honey-Sweet close.

“I’m terrible late,” said Martha, bustling in and hurrying to draw the curtains and light the gas.  “We had to finish putting up the greens.  And Master Dunlop did bother so.  Nothing would do but he must ‘help.’  ‘Help,’ I say!  He’s one of them chillen that no matter where you turn he’s in the way.  You shall have tea now, Miss Anne.  I know you’re starving.  And my blessed baby’s fast asleep on the floor!  Why, Miss Anne!  You been crying!  What’s the matter, dear?  Did that Dunlop—­”