Part 2 (1/2)
”No. What would be the use if you hung 'em up and didn't find anything in 'em in the morning?”
”It'd be awful, but I believe in Him,” said the littlest girl. ”I don't think G.o.d has forgot us, really. I'm going to try.”
”I tell you 'tain't no use.”
”Oh, yes, it is.”
”I'm sure it ain't. But have it your own way,” said the woman. ”If someone would fill your stockings with milk and bread and--”
”I want a turkey,” said the oldest girl.
”And cranberry sauce,” added the boy.
”I want a doll-baby in mine,” said the littlest girl.
The mother hid her face and groaned aloud.
”You ain't sick, are you, Mommy?”
”I guess so. Come, you'd better say your prayers and go to bed. We don't have to keep the fire going so hard when you're all covered up.”
It did not take long for the three little youngsters to divest themselves of the rags of clothing they wore. They slept in what pa.s.sed for their underclothes, so there was no donning of white gowns for the night.
”Here are our stockings, Mommy,” said the oldest, handing three ragged, almost footless, black stockings to the woman.
”It's no use, I tell you. I can't do it.”
”It won't do any harm, Mommy,” urged the girl.
”Do you believe in it, too?” asked the mother, and the girl shook her head. ”You won't be disappointed in the morning if there's nothing in 'em?”
”No, I suppose it will be because Santa Claus was too busy.”
With nervous fingers the woman hung the three stockings near the window.
She was hungry, she was cold, she was broken, she was a mother. She could scarcely keep from crying.
”Maybe you'll be glad you did it,” said the littlest girl drowsily.
”Ain't you comin' to bed, too, Mommy?” asked the oldest, beneath the covers over the mattress on the floor.
”In a little while.”
”And you won't forget to say your prayers?”
”I ain't said 'em for months, ever since your father was killed, and we got so poor.”
”But you'll say 'em to-night 'cause it's Christmas eve?”