Now it was on a certain Christmas that some very pleasant chimes were rung, and that too within hearing of Trinity bells. In the street on Christmas eve were Bundles of great coats and furs tied together with tippets, who hurried along like locomotives, puffing and snorting and leaving behind a line of smoke. But all the people in the streets were not Bundles, by any means. Some scarcely had any wrappings, let alone such heavy coverings as great coats and furs. Little boys may be Bundles if they are properly wrapped up and tied with a tippet or scarf, but not all little boys are Bundles. On this eve one might see many who were not. They kept their hands in their pockets or breathed upon their red fingers, and drew their shoulders together and screwed their faces as if they were trying to hide behind themselves, while the wind blew through every crevice of their bodies and rattled the teeth in their mouths. One of these little boys upon this very Christmas eve hung up his stocking, and what became of it is now to be told. His name was Peter Mit. He had been out all day selling cigars, and was on his way home to supper. But hungry and cold as he was, he could not help stopping to look through the shop-windows at the beautiful things spread out so temptingly behind them. Such toys and games and picture books! "Now," said he, "I must run;" but just as he started, he came to a window so much finer than any he had seen that he stopped before this also. There was a string fastened across the inside of the window with picture and story papers hung upon it; the glass was not very clear, for the frost made it almost like crown-glass, but it was clear enough in the corner to shew one of the pictures, which was a double one; in one part there was a little boy in his night-gown hanging a stocking upon the door of his bed-chamber; in the other part the little boy is shown snugly asleep in his bed, while a most odd little man hung over with toys and picture books of all kinds stands on tip-toe before the stocking, filling it with playthings. There was some printing underneath that explained the picture; as well as Peter could make out, this little boy like a great many others hung up his stocking before he went to bed on Christmas eve, and some time during the night, Santa Klaus, a queer old man, very fond of little folk, came down the chimney and filled the stocking with presents. This was all new to little Peter, and astonished him exceedingly; but it was really too cold to stand there looking at even the most wonderful picture, so he blew into his red fist, and ran off home, taking long slides on the ice wherever he could.