cried the voice of the Chintz Imp. "I
think when I've loosened this paint box, he'll fall down immediately."

"Oh, do be careful!" said Marianne. "A paint box is what I've been
longing for! Don't chip it if you can possibly help it!"

"Of course I shan't," replied the Chintz Imp. "If he wouldn't kick so
much, I should get him out in half the time."

"I'm not kicking," cried Santa Klaus's voice indignantly. "I've been
as still as a rock, even with that horrid penknife close to my ear the
whole time."

"Have a little patience," said the Chintz Imp soothingly. "I promise
not to hurt you."

Marianne began to feel very cold. The excitement, so far, had buoyed
her up; but now the monotonous _chip, chipping_ of the Chintz Imp
continued so long that she jumped into her chintz-curtained bed,
determined to stay there until something new and interesting called
her up again.

"I can't do any good, so I may as well be comfortable," she thought,
and pulled the eider-down quilt up to her chin luxuriously.

"I _hope_ he'll get out! It _would_ be a disappointment to have that
paint-box taken away again. Perhaps it would be given to someone who
wouldn't care for it. I wonder if it's tin, with moist colours? I must
ask Uncle Max to have that chimney made wider----" At this point
Marianne's eyes closed and she fell asleep.

She was awakened by a loud _thump!_ that seemed to shake the very bed
in which she was lying; and as she sprang up in a state of great
excitement, she saw Santa Klaus picking himself up from the hearthrug
on which he had apparently fallen with great violence.

"Oh dear!" cried Marianne, "I hope you are not hurt? How careless of
the Chintz Imp to throw you down like that!"

"It was no one's fault but my own," said Santa Klaus as he dusted the
remains of soot and plaster off his brown cloak. "I should have
remembered my experience with your great-aunt, but I knew how much you
wanted that paint-box," and he slipped into Marianne's stocking a
japanned box with a whole sheaf of paint brushes.

"Oh, thank you, Santa Klaus! You can't think how I've wished for it;
my own is such a horrid little thing. And those beautiful pictures for
my scrap-book, and the things for the doll's house--and I _really_
believe that's the book of fairy tales I've been longing for for
months!"

Marianne's face shone with delighted expectation as she opened the top
of her stocking and peeped in.

"Not till the morning," cried Santa