that the pony might
be there. The room was dark and he listened on the sill, if he might
hear him whinny. Feeling his way along the hearth he came on nothing
greater than his stocking which was tied to the andiron. It bulged and
stirred his curiosity. He thrust in his hand and coming on something
sticky, he put his fingers in his mouth. They were of a delightful
sweetness. He now paused in his search for the pony and drawing out a
huge lump of candy he applied himself. But the day was near and he had
finished no more than half, when a ray of light permitted him to see
what he ate. It was a candy horse--making good the promise of his
uncle. This and a Testament had been stuffed inside his stocking. The
Testament was wrapped in tissue, but the horse was bitten to the
middle. It had been at best but a poor substitute for what he wanted,
yet his love was so broad that it included even a sugar horse; and
this, alas, he had consumed unknowing in the dark. And even now when
the dear fellow tells the story after these many years have passed,
and comes to the sober end with the child crying in the twilight of
the morning, I realize as not before that there should be no Christmas
kept unless it be with love and mirth.

It was but habit that we hung our stockings at the chimney--the piano
would have done as well--for I retain but the slightest memory of a
belief in Santa Claus: perhaps at most, as I have hinted, a far-off
haze of wonder while looking through the window upon the snowy sky--at
night a fancied clatter on the roof, if I lay awake. And therefore in
a chimney there was no greater mystery than was inherent in any hole
that went off suspiciously in the dark. There was a fearful cave
beneath the steps that mounted from the rear to the front garret. This
was wrapped in Cimmerian darkness--which is the strongest pigment
known--and it extended from its mouth beyond the furthest stretch of
leg. To the disillusioned, indeed, this cave was harmless, for it
merely offset the lower ceiling of the bathroom below; yet to us it
was a cave unparalleled. Little by little we ventured in, until in
time we could sit on the snug joists inside with the comfortable
feeling of pirates. Presently we hit on the device of hanging a row of
shining maple-syrup tins along the wall outside where they were caught
by the dusty sunlight, which was thus reflected in on us. By the light
of these dim moons the cave showed itself to be the size of a libra