There was a little daughter once, whose feet were — oh, so small!
That when the Christmas eve came round, they wouldn’t do at all.
At least she said they wouldn’t do, and so she tried another’s,
And folding her wee stocking up, she slyly took her mother’s.
“I’ll pin this big one here,” she said — then sat before the fire,
Watching the supple, dancing flames, and shadows darting by her,
Till silently she drifted off to that queer land, you know,
Of “Nowhere in particular,” where sleepy children go.
She never knew the tumult rare that came upon the roof!
She never heard the patter of a single reindeer hoof;
She never knew how Some One came and looked his shrewd surprise
At the wee foot and the stocking — so different in size!
She only knew, when morning dawned, that she was safe in bed.
“It’s Christmas! Ho!” and merrily she raised her pretty head;
Then, wild with glee, she saw what “dear old Santa Claus” had done,
And ran to tell the joyful news to each and every one:
“Mama! Papa! Please come and look! a lovely doll, and all!”
And “See how full the stocking is! Mine would have been too small.
I borrowed this for Santa Claus. It isn’t fair, you know,
To make him wait forever for a little girl to grow.”
