Reynolds, pleased with Tom's
eagerness, for such a spell of generosity was something new in her
selfish younger son. "But remember, you will have to wait a while for
your visit to grandma."
"All right, and thank you, mother," said Tom. "You can buy the skates
down at Harrison's and I'm going over and ask Mr. Harrison if he won't
open up the store and get a pair for me for a special time like this.
I'm most sure he will!" and away he flew.
That evening, at seven, as the moon was rising over the eastern hills,
a short, portly Santa Claus stepped out of the dry reeds by the river
bank and walked with wonderfully nimble feet, right into the McGinnis'
little back yard. As he neared the small back porch, a dark figure
rose to greet him, one hand held up in warning, the other holding at
arm's length, a bulky grain sack, full to the brim.
"Here's yer pack, Santy," he whispered, gleefully. "They're all
waitin' in the front room yonder. I'll slip in the back way, whilst
you go round and give a good thump at the front door and mom'll let
you in."
Trembling with eagerness, Tom tiptoed round the house, managing to
slip an oblong package into the capacious depths of the big sack as
he did so. Thump, thump! how his knock reechoed in the frosty air! The
door swung wide, and Mrs. McGinnis' gaunt figure stood before him.
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