I saw him."

"You saw him!"

"Um--hm"--nodding her head cheerfully.

"Well! I knew she was an angel," said Major Stafford in an aside to
his wife; "but--What did He say Santa Claus is going to bring you?" he
asked.

The little mite sprang to her feet. "He's goin' to bring
me--a--great--big--dolly--with real, sure-'nough hair, and blue eyes
that will go to sleep, and her name's Miss Please-Ma'am." Her face was
aglow, and she stretched her plump hands wide apart to give the size.

"She has dreamt it," said the Major in an undertone to her mother.
"There is not such a doll as that in the Southern Confederacy."

The child caught his meaning. "Yes, He _is_," she insisted, "'cause I
asked Him an' He said he would; and Charlie----"

Just then that youngster burst into the room, a small whirlwind in
petticoats. As soon as his cyclonic tendencies could be curbed his
father asked him:

"Well, what did you ask Santa Claus for, young man?"

"For a pair of breeches and a sword," answered the boy promptly,
striking an attitude. "And I'm going to have 'em. I told Him I just
had to have 'em."

"Well, upon my word!" laughed his father, eyeing the erect little
figure and the steady, clear eyes which looked proudly up at him. "I
had no idea what a young Achilles we had here. You shall have them."

The boy nodded gravely. "All right. When I get to be a man I won't
let anybody make my mamma cry." He advanced a step, with head up, the
very picture of spirit.

"Ah! you won't?" said his father, with a gesture to prevent his wife
interrupting.

"Nor my little sister," said the young warrior, patronizingly, swelling
with infantile importance.

"No; he won't let anybody make _me_ ky," chimed in Evelyn, promptly
accepting the proffered protection. "And he won't make me ky himself."

"But you mus'n't be a cry-baby," demanded Charlie.

"On my word, Ellen, the fellow has some of the old blood in him," said
Major Stafford, laughing, much pleased. "Come here, my young knight."
He drew the boy up to him and stood him before him. "I had rather have
heard you say that than have won a brigadier's wreath. You shall have
your breeches and your sword next Christmas if I live. Were I the king
I should give you your spurs. Remember, never let any one make your
mother or sister cry."

Charlie nodded in token of his acceptance of the condition.

"All right. But she mus'n't be a crybaby," he added with a glance down
at Ev