The children insisted on leading him all through the house to show how nicely they had taken care of things. And in every room Gissing saw the marks of riot and wreckage. There were tooth-scars on all furniture-legs; the fringes of rugs were chewed off; there were prints of mud, ink, paints, and whatnot, on curtains and wallpapers and coverlets. Poor Mrs. Spaniel kept running anxiously from the kitchen to renew apologies. “I DID try to keep 'em in order,” she said, “but they seem to bash things when you're not looking.” But Gissing was too happy to stew about such trifles. When the inspection was over, they all sat down by the chimney and he piled on more logs. “Well, chilluns,” he said, “what do you want Santa Claus to bring you for Christmas?” “An aunbile!” exclaimed Groups “An elphunt!” exclaimed Bunks “A little train with hammers!” exclaimed Yelpers “A little train with hammers?” asked Gissing. “What does he mean?” “Oh,” said Groups and Bunks, with condescending pity, “he means a typewriter. He calls it a little train because it moves on a track when you hit it.” A painful apprehension seized him, and he went hastily to his study. He had not noticed the typewriter, which Mrs. Spaniel had--too late--put out of reach. Half the keys were sticking upright, jammed together and tangled in a whirl of ribbon; the carriage was strangely dislocated. And yet even this mischance, which would once have horrified him, left him unperturbed. It's my own fault, he thought: I shouldn't have left it where they could play with it. Perhaps God thinks the same when His creatures make a mess of the dangerous laws of life. “A Christmas story!” the children were clamouring. Can it really be Christmas Eve? Gissing thought. Christmas seems to have come very suddenly this year, I haven't really adjusted my mind to it yet. “All right,” he said. “Now sit still and keep quiet. Bunks, give Yelpers a little more room. If there's any bickering Santa Claus might hear it.” He sat in the big chair by the fire, and the three looked upward expectantly from the hearthrug. “Once upon a time there were three little puppies, who lived in a house in the country in the Canine Estates. And their names were Groups, Bunks, and Yelpers.” The three tails thumped in turn as the names were mentioned, but the children were too excitedly absorbed to interrupt. “And one year, just before Christmas, they heard a dreadful rumour.” “What's a rumour?” cried Yelpers, alarmed. This was rather difficult to explain, so Gissing did not attempt it. He began again.