The next visit was through a covered way to the printing works--where the mottoes and "directions" for toys and Father Christmas's visiting cards were printed. These cards were all different in design, and each was a beautiful picture stamped with his name, and his own motto, "Peace and Goodwill." Behind was the sweet factory, with its tempting packets and muslin stockings of all sizes full of sugar-plums. But, as Father Time appeared, Father Christmas whispered that he feared they must not linger, and led the way up a spiral staircase in order to enable Eva to have a peep into the toy-loft, where men were letting the toys down into the busy yard below. How she would have loved to stay longer in each delightful place, but without a murmur she followed her guide below and back to the oak-panelled room. It looked so bare and different without the toys--much like any ordinary room. "And now, my dear," he said, "you must excuse me for a short time, as I must go upstairs and get ready." "Please, ought I to be going?" she asked politely. "No, no. Not yet." And he went away, up the grand staircase, to his bedroom. There he took from the drawer his scarlet fur-lined cloak and hood with wide swansdown trimming, which had been put away in lavender, chose his thickest top-boots, and humming a song, proceeded to array himself for the long, cold journey in store for him that night. Meanwhile, the moment he left his little visitor downstairs, the strange-looking child approached her. "What's your name?" asked Eva pleasantly. "Eva," came the surly reply. "Why, that's my name!" "Of course. I know you, I know you through and through--good and bad--and I wish I didn't." "You're a horrid story-teller," said Eva angrily. "Supposing I am! It's easier to tell stories than to tell the truth. Saves a lot of trouble. Besides, it's nice. You know that as well as I do." Eva would have liked to deny it, only she felt too scornful. "_Saves_ trouble?" she said to herself. "_Makes_ trouble." But she flushed as she remembered she had once thought that too, but only for a moment; and she was ashamed of it now. She was ruffled and uncomfortable at the proximity of this horrid girl, who now said slyly: "Look over there in that cupboard, there's a doll that has been forgotten. I want it, and I'm going to take it and hide it under my pinafore." "You mayn't--you mustn't!" cried Eva. "It would be stealing." "I don't care. Father Christmas won't know." "Yes, he will. I shall tell him!" "Then I'll say it was given to me." "You horrid girl! You dreadful story-teller!" "Don't be silly. What does it matter telling stories and stealing, so long as you're not found out?" "It's just as bad if you're not found out. But you are _bound_ to be found out," cried Eva, in horror and disgust as she saw her approach the coveted treasure. "I tell you, wicked people are always found out; they never escape unpunished." "I want it, and I'm going to have it."