Only six more days till Christmas now--only five--only four--only
three--only two--Christmas Eve. One day more of holding in such swelling
secrets, and some of the young folks would have popped right wide open.
Families gather about the Franklin stove, Pa and Ma gaping and rubbing
their eyes--saying, "Oh, hum!" and making out that they are just plumb
perishing for the lack of sleep. But the children cannot take the hint.
They don't want to go to bed. The imminence of a great event nerves them
in their hopeless fight against the hosts of Nod. They sit and stare
with bulging eyes at the red coals and dancing flames, spurting out here
and there like tiny sabers.

The mystic hour draws near. Sometime in the night will come the jingle
of silver bells, and the patter of tiny hoofs. Old Santa will halloo:
"Whoa!" and come sliding down the chimney. The drowsing heads, fuddled
with weariness, wrestle clumsily with the problem, "How is he to get
through the stove without burning himself?" Reason falters and Faith
triumphs. It would be done somehow, and then the reindeer would fly
to the next house, and the next, and so on, and so on. The mystic hour
draws near. Like a tidal wave it rolls around the world, foaming at its
crest in a golden spray of gifts and love. The mystic hour.

"Oh, just a little longer, just a little longer."

"No, no. You cain't hardly prop your eyes open now. Come now. Get to
bed. Now, Elmer Lonnie; now, Mary Ellen; now, Janey; now, Eddie; now,
Lycurgus. Don't be naughty at the last minute and say, 'I don't want
to,' or else Santa Claus won't come a-near. No, sir."

After the last drink of water and the last "Now I lay me," a long
pause.... Then from the spare bedroom the loud rustling of stiff paper,
the snap of broken, string, and whispers of, "Won't her eyes stick out
when she sees that!" and, "He's been just fretting for a sled; I'm so
glad it was so 't we could get it for him," and, "I s'pose we ort n't to
spent so much, but seems like with such nice young ones 's we've got 't
ain't no more 'n right we should do for 'em all we can afford, 'n'
mebby a little more. Janey 's 'stiffcut' said she was 100 in everything,
deportment an' all."

At one house something white slips down the staircase to where a good
view can be had through the half-open parlor door. It pauses when a step
cracks loudly in the stillness. The parlor door is slammed to.

"D' you think he saw?"

"I don't know. I'm afraid so. Li