s here, for one pair of little shoes
does not hold much stuff. But fortunately it is the happy custom in all
lands to allow of overflow to any extent. And finally St. Nicholas never
comes down the chimney; he pops in through the window (which should be
left slightly open at the bottom so that he can get in his thumb and
prize it up). Also he never drove a reindeer in his life. He rides a
horse. And this is of the first importance, for the one condition
attaching to his benevolence is that you must put out a good wisp of hay
for the horse, along with your shoes, or else he will simply pass on and
you will get nothing at all.

Having collected and considered all these facts we were fully prepared
to meet the situation--even down to the small gingerbread animals which
always grace the day--on December 6th, and to deal faithfully with the
little rows of clogs, bulging with hay, which awaited us on St. Nicholas
Eve.

* * * * *

Illustration: _Weary Variety Agent._ "AND WHAT'S _YOUR_ PARTICULAR
CLAIM TO ORIGINALITY?"

_Artiste._ "I'M THE ONLY COMEDIAN WHO HAS SO FAR REFRAINED FROM
ADDRESSING THE ORCHESTRA AS 'YOU IN THE TRENCH.'"

* * * * *

CHRISTMAS PRESENTS, 1914.

"It's perfectly simple," said the Reverend Henry, adopting his lofty
style. "We must cut the whole lot. There is no other course."

"I don't consider that your opinion is of any value whatever," said
Eileen. "In fact you ought not to be allowed to take part in this
discussion. Every one knows that you have always tried to get out of
Christmas presents, and now you are merely using a grave national
emergency to further your private ends."

The Reverend Henry was squashed; but Mrs. Sidney had a perfect right to
speak, for she has been without doubt the most persistent and
painstaking Christmas provider in the family, and has never been known
to miss a single relation even at the longest range.

"I quite agree with Henry," said she. "This is no time for Christmas
presents--except to hospitals and Belgians and men at the Front."

"You mean that you would scratch the whole lot," said I, "even the
pocket diary for 1915 that I send to Uncle William?"

"Yes, even that. You can send the diary to Sidney" (who is in Flanders).
"I have always wanted him to keep a diary."

"What about the children?" said I.

"The children must realise," said the Reverend Henry solemnly, "what it
means for the nat