Nor did the Spirit of the Holidays allow his interest to lessen during the days when the advertisements lost their fascination through monotonous repetition. As he and Bill ran home at noon one day, a quartette of men with bulging, gray denim bags on their shoulders, left big yellow envelopes on each and every house porch of the street. They were rigidly impartial in their work, and John dashed up the steps of that same vacant house which the boys had held that day with the pea shooters. "Look!" he cried, drawing the gaudy pamphlet from the manila casing. "It's the _Toy Book_, Silvey!" The _Toy Book_ had been issued since time immemorial by one of the down town stores, and its yearly visit made it something of an institution among the juveniles of the street. On the cover, a red-coated, rosy-cheeked Saint Nick, with a toy-filled pack, was descending a snow-capped chimney while his reindeer cavorted in the background. On the back were rows of dainty pink, blue, and green clad dolls with flaxen ringlets and staring, china eyes--trash which interested John not at all. Why didn't they put engines and sleds and worth-while things there? "Come on, Bill," he said suddenly. "Let's collect 'em." They waited until the distributors were too far down the street to interfere, and sneaked up and down the house steps with careful thoroughness. As the bundles under the two boyish arms were becoming heavy, Mrs. Fletcher darted out by the lamppost in front of the house and beckoned to John vigorously. He left Bill with a show of regret, for the dozen odd copies under his arm were far less than he would have liked. Louise sauntered home with him after school that day. As they passed Southern Avenue, the lady's gaze rested on a muddy object in the street gutter, and John stooped to pick it up. Torn, disfigured with innumerable heel marks and wagon wheels, the battered bundle of paper was all that remained of a Christmas booklet. "Oh!" said Louise in surprise. "Didn't you get one?" She shook her head. Evidently other boys at her end of the street had emulated John and Bill. "Tells all about toys," he volunteered. "I'll bring you one with the paper, if you want." She thanked him and dropped the ruin regretfully. Those dolls on the back cover were so enticing. "Aren't you glad Christmas is coming?" John asked. "Gee, I wish it was day after tomorrow." Louise nodded. "What do you want for Christmas?" he pursued. She didn't know. "A doll--" "A doll!" he interrupted in disgust. What did she want with dolls? They would be of no use when she had grown up. "Yes, a doll," said Louise decidedly. John feigned placating approval. "And doll clothes," she went on, "and new hair ribbons and things for my dresses, and lots and lots of other presents. What do you want?"