"Hullo, sonny!" replied the Idiot, observing the swollen eye. "Had a good time?" "Yep," said the boy; "pretty good." "Been fighting?" suggested the Idiot. "Not so very much," said the boy; "only a little." And he began to sing a popular air, as if he didn't care much about life in general, and didn't mind an aching eye, which was rapidly, by its inflammation, giving away the fact that he had met with trouble. "What did you learn at Sunday-school?" asked the Idiot. "More blessed to give than to receive," said Tommy. "Good!" said the Idiot. "I hope you will remember that, sonny. There is no satisfaction in all the world like that of giving if you can afford it." [Illustration: "'I GAVE MY DOLLY AWAY TO-DAY'"] "I think tho, too," said Mollie, sitting down on her father's lap with the contented sigh of a little girl who has discovered that life is not all an illusion. "I gave my dollie away to-day, papa," she added. "She wath only thawdust, and Pollie Harrington hath her now. She was a drefful care, and I'm glad to be ridden of her." But the Idiot's mind was not on dolls, and he showed it. His boy's eye proved a greater care. "Come here, my boy," he said. The boy approached inquiringly. "How did this happen?" the Idiot asked. "Your eye is swollen." "Oh, I don't know," cried Tommy, exultantly. "Jimmie Roberts said there wasn't no Santy Claus." "Well?" "I said there was, an' then I gave him one on the end of his nose." Here the boy struggled away from his father, as if he had done something he was willing to stand by. "Let me understand this," said the Idiot. "Jimmie said--" "There wasn't any Santy Claus," interrupted Tommy. "Then what did you say?" asked the Idiot. "I told him he didn't know what he was talking about," said Tommy. "Why did you say that?" "Because he was wrong, papa," said Tommy. "I've seen Santy Claus; I saw him last year." "Ah! You did, eh? I was not aware of that fact." Tommy began to laugh. "You can't fool me, daddy," he said, climbing onto his father's knee. "Of course I've seen him, and he's the bulliest feller in all the world. _You're him!_" And a hug followed. Later on Mrs. Idiot and the Idiot sat together. The latter was deep in thought. "Children have queer notions," said he, after a while. "They are generally pretty right, though," observed Mrs. Idiot. "You are a pretty good Santa Claus, after all," she added. "Pollie," said the Idiot, rising, "I believe in Santa Claus because he represents the spirit of the hour, and whoever tries to turn him down tries to turn down that spirit--the most blessed thing we have. Let's keep the children believing in Santa Claus, eh?" "I agree," said Mrs. Idiot. "For the secret is out. You are Santa Claus to them."