"Lazybones," snickered Jimmieboy, as the pillow landed on Fred's curly head. But Fred answered never a word, which so exasperated Jimmieboy that he got up with the intention of throwing himself at his sleeping companion, when he heard a queer noise over by the fireplace. "Hullo, down there, 521. Is that you?" cried somebody. Jimmieboy stared at the chimney in blank amazement. "Hurry up below there, 521. Is that you?" came the voice again. "This room is 521," replied Jimmieboy, realizing all of a sudden that it was no doubt to him that these words were addressed. "Well, then, look sharp, will you? Turn off the fire--put it out--do something with it. You can't expect me to come down there with the fire burning, can you? I'm not fireproof, you know," returned the voice. "There isn't any fire here," said Jimmieboy. "Nonsense," cried the voice. "What's that roaring I hear?" "Oh--that," Jimmieboy answered. "That's Fred. He's snoring." "Ah! Then I will come down," came the voice, and in an instant there was a small fall of soot, a rustling in the chimney, and a round-faced, fat-stomached, white-bearded little old gentleman with a twinkling eye, appeared, falling like a football into the grate and bounding like a tennis ball out into the middle of the floor. "Santa Claus, at your service," he said, bowing low to Jimmieboy. The boy looked at him breathless with astonishment for a moment. "Well--well----" put in the old man impatiently. "What is it you want with me? I'm very busy, so pray don't detain me. Is it one of my new Conversational Brownies you are after? If so, say so. Fine things, these Conversational Brownies." "I never heard of 'em," said Jimmieboy. "Coz why?" laughed Santa Claus, twirling airily about on the toes of his left foot. "Coz why? Bee-coz there ain't never been any for you to hear about. I invented 'em all by myself. You have Brownies in books that don't move. Good. I like 'em, you like 'em, we all like 'em. You have Brownies out of books. Better--but they can't talk and all bee-coz they're stuffed with cotton. It isn't their fault. It's the cotton's fault. Take a man and stuff him with cotton and he wouldn't be able to say a word, but stuff him with wit and anecdotes and he'll talk. Wherefore I have invented a Conversational Brownie. He's made of calico, but he's stuffed with remarks, and he has a little metal hole in his mouth, and when you squeeze him remarks oozes out between his lips and there you are. Eh? Fine?" "Bully," said Jimmieboy. "Was that what you rang for? Quick, hurry up, I haven't any time to waste at this season of the year." "Well, no," Jimmieboy answered. "Not having ever heard of 'em, of course." "Oh, then you wanted one of my live wood doll babies," said Santa Claus. "Of course. They're rather better than the Conversational Brownies, perhaps, I guess; I don't know. Still, they last longer, as long as you water 'em. Was it one of those you wanted?"