Yes, it is a pleasant fiction; and if there be in it a leaven of wrong, it is indeed a small portion.

“But why won’t you tell me, mamma?” persisted my little interrogator.  “Don’t you know Kriss Kringle?”

“I never saw him, dear,” said I.

“Has papa seen him?”

“Ask him when he comes home.”

“I wish Krissy would bring me, Oh, such an elegant carriage and four horses, with a driver that could get down and go up again.”

“If I see him, I’ll tell him to bring you just such a nice carriage.”

“And will he do it, mamma?” The dear child clapped his hands together with delight.

“I guess so.”

“I wish I could see him,” he said, more soberly and thoughtfully.  And then, as if some new impression had crossed his mind, he hastened down from the chair, and went gliding from the room.

Half an hour afterwards, as I came into the nursery, I saw my three “olive branches,” clustered together in a corner, holding grave counsel on some subject of importance; at least to themselves.  They became silent at my presence; but soon began to talk aloud.  I listened to a few words, but perceived nothing of particular concern; then turned my thoughts away.

“Who is Kriss Kringle, papa?” I heard my cherry-lipped boy asking of Mr. Smith, soon after he came home in the evening.

The answer I did not hear.  Enough that the enquirer did not appear satisfied therewith.

At tea-time, the children were not in very good appetite, though in fine spirits.

As soon as the evening meal was over, Mr. Smith went out to buy presents for our little ones, while I took upon myself the task of getting them off early to bed.

A Christmas tree had been obtained during the day, and it stood in one of the parlors, on a table.  Into this parlor the good genius was to descend during the night, and hang on the branches of the tree, or leave upon the table, his gifts for the children.  This was our arrangement.  The little ones expressed some doubts as to whether Kriss Kringle would come to this particular room; and little “cherry lips” couldn’t just see how the genius was going to get down the chimney, when the fire-place was closed up.

“Never mind, love; Kriss will find his way here,” was my answer to all objections.

“But how do you know, mother?  Have you sent him word?”

“Oh, I know.”

Thus I put aside their enquiries, and hurried them off to bed.

“Now go to sleep right quickly,” said I, after they were snugly under their warm blankets and comforts; “and to-morrow morning be up bright and early.”

And so I left them to their peaceful slumbers.

An hour it was, or more, ere Mr. Smith returned, with his pockets well laden.  I was in the parlor, where we had placed the Christmas tree, engaged in decorating it with rosettes, sugar toys, and the like.  At this work I had been some fifteen or twenty minutes, and had, I will own, become a little nervous.  My domestic had gone out, and I was alone in the house.  Once or twice, as I sat in the silent room, I imagined that I heard a movement in the one adjoining.  And several times I was sure that my ear detected something like the smothered breathing of a man.