Santa was sitting in his workshop, making a doll with curly hair and blue eyes. His collie, Boy of the North, had his head resting against Santa’s knee.
“Last Christmas,” Santa said, “I was at a house where three little girls were asleep. Oh, Boy of the North, they were such nice children. Even if mothers and daddies sometimes say their children are bad — well, what child isn’t, sometimes? It doesn’t trouble old Santa. He knows they’re doing their best.
“These three girls slept in three little white beds, each with her hair in two braids. I filled their stockings and said to myself: You’re a fine collection of youngsters for any mother and father to be proud of. And I felt proud myself — proud to be old Santa Claus and to have the honour of filling your Christmas stockings.
“Then I went downstairs and began to trim the tree. They had left me their decorations from last year — some people are kind that way. It saves room in my pack, and I love seeing the same old ornaments come out year after year.
“But I noticed something else beside the tree. A small parcel. Addressed to me.
“I looked at the label: To Santa Claus, with love from Helen.
“And inside, a little note: Dear Santa, I made this myself, so please forgive the mistakes.
“It was a pincushion, Boy of the North. I have it in my room now — you may have noticed it.”
Boy of the North wagged his tail.
“I was very pleased. I wrote Helen a note to thank her. But I mean this truly, Boy of the North: I don’t really care about receiving presents. I like to feel that I am the one person in the world who gives gifts without receiving them in return. All the thanks I need is the smiles of children. That is quite enough.”
