“It is generous of you to think of it,” said his mother, much pleased, “and you would still have two and a half for that little trip down to grandma’s.”

“But I’d like to get him some ‘Club House’ skates,” said Tom.  “They’re a new kind that cost three dollars and a half.”

“But I thought you said the ‘Jolly Ramblers’ were the best skates made?” Mrs. Reynolds looked somewhat hurt as she glanced from Tom to the skates on his shoulder and back to Tom again.

“They are, mother, they’re just dandies!” said Tom blushing with shame that he could ever have despised his mother’s gift.  “But these ‘Club House’ skates are just the kind for Harvey.  You see, Harvey’s shoes are old and worn, and these ‘Club House’ skates have clamps that you can’t shake loose if you have to.  Then, if anything happens to them before the year’s up, you get a new pair free; and Harvey, you know, wouldn’t have any money to be fixing skates.”

“Well, do as you like,” said Mrs. Reynolds, pleased with Tom’s eagerness, for such a spell of generosity was something new in her selfish younger son.  “But remember, you will have to wait a while for your visit to grandma.”

“All right, and thank you, mother,” said Tom.  “You can buy the skates down at Harrison’s and I’m going over and ask Mr. Harrison if he won’t open up the store and get a pair for me for a special time like this.  I’m most sure he will!” and away he flew.

That evening, at seven, as the moon was rising over the eastern hills, a short, portly Santa Claus stepped out of the dry reeds by the river bank and walked with wonderfully nimble feet, right into the McGinnis’ little back yard.  As he neared the small back porch, a dark figure rose to greet him, one hand held up in warning, the other holding at arm’s length, a bulky grain sack, full to the brim.

“Here’s yer pack, Santy,” he whispered, gleefully.  “They’re all waitin’ in the front room yonder.  I’ll slip in the back way, whilst you go round and give a good thump at the front door and mom’ll let you in.”

Trembling with eagerness, Tom tiptoed round the house, managing to slip an oblong package into the capacious depths of the big sack as he did so.  Thump, thump! how his knock reechoed in the frosty air!  The door swung wide, and Mrs. McGinnis’ gaunt figure stood before him.

“Good evenin’, Santy, come right in,” she said.

Tom had always thought what a homely woman Harvey’s mother was when he happened to meet her at the grocery, with her thin red hair drawn severely back from her gaunt face, and a black shawl over her head.  But as he looked up into her big, kind face, so full of Christmas sunshine, he wondered he could ever have thought her anything but lovely.  The room was small and bare, but wonderfully gay with pine and bits of red and green crepe paper, saved from the ‘fixins’ at the store.  And on a large bed in the corner sat the three little girls, Kitty with her bright curls bobbing, Josephine with her black braids sticking straight out, and the baby with tiny blue eyes that twinkled and shone like Harvey’s.