“How much are these?  Thank you!” “She says these are five, Lizzie; do you like them better than the little holly books?” “I’ll take these two, please, and will you give me two envelopes?—­Wait just a moment, I didn’t see these !” “This one was in the ten-cent box, but it’s marked five, and that lady says that there were some just like it for five.  If it’s five, I want it!” “Aren’t these cunnin’, Lou?” “Yes, I noticed those, did you see these, darling?” “I want this one—­I want these, please,—­will you give me this one?”

“Are you going to be open at all to-morrow?” Mary Lou asked, unwilling to be hurried into a rash choice.  “Isn’t this little one with a baby’s face sweet?” said a tall, gaunt woman, gently, to Susan.

“Darling!” said Susan.

“But I want it for an unmarried lady, who isn’t very fond of children,” said the woman delicately.  “So perhaps I had better take these two funny little pussies in a hat!”

They went out into the cold street again, and into a toy-shop where a lamb was to be selected for Georgie’s baby.  And here was a roughly dressed young man holding up a three-year-old boy to see the elephants and horses.  Little Three, a noisy little fellow, with cold red little hands, and a worn, soiled plush coat, selected a particularly charming shaggy horse, and shouted with joy as his father gave it to him.

“Do you like that, son?  Well, I guess you’ll have to have it; there’s nothing too good for you!” said the father, and he signaled a saleswoman.  The girl looked blankly at the change in her hand.

“That’s two dollars, sir,” she said, pleasantly, displaying the tag.

“What?” the man stammered, turning red.  “Why—­why, sure—­that’s right!  But I thought—–­” he appealed to Susan.  “Don’t that look like twenty cents?” he asked.

Mary Lou tugged discreetly at Susan’s arm, but Susan would not desert the baby in the plush coat.

“It is!” she agreed warmly.

“Oh, no, ma’am!  These are the best German toys,” said the salesman firmly.

“Well, then, I guess—–­” the man tried gently to disengage the horse from the jealous grip of its owner, “I guess we’d better leave this horse here for some other little feller, Georgie,” said he, “and we’ll go see Santa Claus.”

“I thess want my horse that Dad gave me!” said Georgie, happily.

“Shall I ask Santa Claus to send it?” asked the saleswoman, tactfully.

“No-o-o!” said Georgie, uneasily.  “Doncher letter have it, Dad!”

“Give the lady the horse, old man,” said the father, “and we’ll go find something pretty for Mamma and the baby!” The little fellow’s lips quivered, but even at three some of the lessons of poverty had been learned.  He surrendered the horse obediently, but Susan saw the little rough head go down tight against the man’s collar, and saw the clutch of the grimy little hand.

Two minutes later she ran after them, and found them seated upon the lowest step of an out-of-the-way stairway; the haggard, worried young father vainly attempting to console the sobbing mite upon his knee.