"Good evenin', Santy, come right in," she said.
Tom had always thought what a homely woman Harvey's mother was when he
happened to meet her at the grocery, with her thin red hair drawn
severely back from her gaunt face, and a black shawl over her head.
But as he looked up into her big, kind face, so full of Christmas
sunshine, he wondered he could ever have thought her anything but
lovely. The room was small and bare, but wonderfully gay with pine and
bits of red and green crepe paper, saved from the 'fixins' at the
store. And on a large bed in the corner sat the three little girls,
Kitty with her bright curls bobbing, Josephine with her black braids
sticking straight out, and the baby with tiny blue eyes that twinkled
and shone like Harvey's.
The fine speech that Tom had been saying over to himself for the past
two hours seemed to vanish into thin air before this excited little
audience. But in faltering, stammering tones, which everyone was too
excited to notice, he managed to say something about "Merry Christmas"
and "good children" and then proceeded to open the magic sack. "Miss
Kitty McGinnis!" he called, in deep, gruff tones. Kitty took the box
he offered with shy embarrassment, slowly drew back the lid and gave a
cry of amazement and delight. "A doll, O the loveliest doll that ever
was!" she cried.
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