"What is a live wood doll baby?" asked Jimmieboy. "One o' my newest new, new things," replied Santa Claus. "'Stead o' making wooden dolls out of dead wood, I makes 'em out o' live wood. Keep some o' the roots alive, make your doll, plant it proper, water it, and it'll grow just like a man. My live oak dolls that I'm making this year, a hundred years from now will be great giants." "Splendid idea," said Jimmieboy. "But how about the leaves. Don't they sprout out and hide the doll?" "Of course they do, if you don't see that they're pulled off," retorted Santa Claus. "You don't expect me to give you toys and look after 'em all at the same time, do you?" "No," said Jimmieboy. "Well, it's good you don't," said Santa Claus, turning a somersault backward. "It's werry good you don't, for should you had have you'd have been disappointed. But, I say, was that what you wanted, or were you after one of my new patent typewriters that you wind up? Don't keep me waiting all night----" "I never heard of your new patent typewriters that you wind up," Jimmieboy answered. "That isn't the question," interrupted Santa Claus nervously, "though I suppose it's the answer, for if you had heard of my windable writer it would have been the thing you wanted. It's a grand invention, that machine. You take a key, wind the thing up, having first loaded it with paper, and what do you suppose it does?" "Writes?" asked Jimmieboy. "Exactly," replied Santa Claus. "It writes stories and poems and jokes. There are five keys goes with each machine--one poetry key, one joke key, one fairy tale key, a story of adventure key, and a solemn Sunday school story key that writes morals and makes you wonder whether you're as good as you ought to be." "Well," said Jimmieboy, "now that I know about that, that's what I want, though as a matter of fact I rang you up for a glass of ice water." "What!" cried Santa Claus, indignantly, bounding about the room like a tennis ball again. "Me? Do you mean to say you've summoned me away from my work at this season of the year just to bring you a glass of ice water?" "I--I didn't mean for you to bring it," said Jimmieboy, meekly. "I--I must have made a mistake----" "It's outrageous," said Santa Claus, stamping his foot, "You hadn't oughter make mistakes. I won't bring you anything on Christmas--no, not a thing. You----" A knock at the door interrupted the little old man, and Jimmieboy, on going to see who was there, discovered the hall boy with the pitcher of water. "What's that?" asked Santa, as Jimmieboy returned. "It's the water," replied the little fellow. "So I couldn't have made a mistake after all." "Hum!" said Santa, stroking his beard slowly and thoughtfully. "I guess--I guess the wires must be crossed--so it wasn't your fault--and I will bring you something, but the man who ought to have looked after those wires and didn't won't find anything in his stocking but a big hole in the toe on Christmas."