There were wet eyes among the women and some of the older men in khaki closed their eyes and seemed to be transporting themselves thousands of miles away to other scenes and other faces. But the reverie was only for a minute. M. Lecompte began calling the names for the distribution of gifts and the children of Saint Thiebault began their excited progress toward the tables. Here Papa Noel delivered the prized packages. "For Marie Louise Larue," said M. Lecompte, "a hair ribbon of gold and black with a tortoise bandeau." "For Gaston Ponsot, a toy cannon that shoots and six German soldiers at least to shoot." "For Colette Daville, a warm cape of red cloth with a collar of wool." "For Alphonse Benois, an aeroplane that flies on a string." "For Eugenie Fontaine, a doll that speaks." "For Emilie Moreau, a pair of shoes with real leather soles and tops." "For Camille Laurent, red mittens of wool and a sheepskin muff." "For Jean Artois, a warship that moves and flies the American flag." It continued for more than an hour. The promoters of the celebration were wise to their work. There was more than one present for each child. They did not know how many. Time after time, their names were called and they clattered forward in their wooden shoes for each new surprise. The presents ran the range of toys, clothing, games, candies and nuts, but the joy was in sitting there and waiting for one's name to be called and going forward to partake of that most desirable "more." Big Moriarity had his hands in the incident that served as a climax to the distribution. He had whispered something to M. Lecompte and the result was that one little duffer, who sat all alone on a big chair, and hugged an enormous rubber boot, waited and waited expectantly to hear the name "Pierre Lafite" called out. All the other names had been called once and not his. He waited. All the names had been called twice and still not his. He waited through the third and the fourth calling in vain, and his chin was beginning to tremble suspiciously as the fifth calling proceeded without the sound of his name. The piles of packages on the tables had been getting smaller all the time. Then M. Lecompte pronounced the very last name. "Pierre Lafite," he called. Pierre's heart bounded as he slipped off the chair and started up the aisle dragging his big rubber boot. The rest of the children had returned to their seats. All the elders in the church were watching his progress. "For Pierre Lafite," repeated M. Lecompte, holding up the enormous boot. "A pair of real leather shoes to fit in the foot of the boot." He placed them there. "And a pair of stilts to fit in the leg of the boot." He so placed them. "And a set of soldiers, twenty-four in number, with a general commanding, to go beside the stilts." He poured them into the boot. "And a pair of gloves and a stocking cap to go on top of the soldiers. "And a baseball and a bat to go on top of the gloves.