“Santa Claus, please give me a little present.  I was good all summer and kept the crows out of the corn,” pleaded the poor Scarecrow in his choking voice, but Santa Claus passed by with a merry halloo and a great clamour of bells.

Then Jimmy Scarecrow stood in the corn-stubble and shook with sobs until his joints creaked.  “I am of no use in the world, and everybody has forgotten me,” he moaned.  But he was mistaken.

The next morning Betsey sat at the window holding her Christmas doll-baby, and she looked out at Jimmy Scarecrow standing alone in the field amidst the corn-stubble.

“Aunt Hannah?” said she.  Aunt Hannah was making a crazy patchwork quilt, and she frowned hard at a triangular piece of red silk and circular piece of pink, wondering how to fit them together.  “Well?” said she.

“Did Santa Claus bring the Scarecrow any Christmas present?”

“No, of course he didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s a Scarecrow.  Don’t ask silly questions.”

“I wouldn’t like to be treated so, if I was a Scarecrow,” said Betsey, but her Aunt Hannah did not hear her.  She was busy cutting a triangular snip out of the round piece of pink silk so the piece of red silk could be feather-stitched into it.

It was snowing hard out of doors, and the north wind blew.  The Scarecrow’s poor old coat got whiter and whiter with snow.  Sometimes he almost vanished in the thick white storm.  Aunt Hannah worked until the middle of the afternoon on her crazy quilt.  Then she got up and spread it out over the sofa with an air of pride.

“There,” said she, “that’s done, and that makes the eighth.  I’ve got one for every bed in the house, and I’ve given four away.  I’d give this away if I knew of anybody that wanted it.”

Aunt Hannah put on her hood and shawl, and drew some blue yarn stockings on over her shoes, and set out through the snow to carry a slice of plum-pudding to her sister Susan, who lived down the road.  Half an hour after Aunt Hannah had gone Betsey put her little red plaid shawl over her head, and ran across the field to Jimmy Scarecrow.  She carried her new doll-baby smuggled up under her shawl.

“Wish you Merry Christmas!” she said to Jimmy Scarecrow.

“Wish you the same,” said Jimmy, but his voice was choked with sobs, and was also muffled, for his old hat had slipped down to his chin.  Betsey looked pitifully at the old hat fringed with icicles, like frozen tears, and the old snow-laden coat.  “I’ve brought you a Christmas present,” said she, and with that she tucked her doll-baby inside Jimmy Scarecrow’s coat, sticking its tiny feet into a pocket.

“Thank you,” said Jimmy Scarecrow faintly.

“You’re welcome,” said she.  “Keep her under your overcoat, so the snow won’t wet her, and she won’t catch cold, she’s delicate.”

“Yes, I will,” said Jimmy Scarecrow, and he tried hard to bring one of his stiff, outstretched arms around to clasp the doll-baby.