Christmas holidays had begun and school was out. The scholars had spoken Christmas pieces that told of gift-giving and Santa Claus.

Rose Schneider and Lili Fifer, with school-books under their arms, pushed open the heavy oak door of the big city library and trotted with one accord upstairs to join the line of children waiting to get in.

“I got a dandy book,” Lili volunteered as they wedged into the waiting line. “It was all about a little girl that went to see Santa Claus. I’m bringin’ it back now. Say, Rose, you get it on your card. It’s an awfully nice story.”

But Rose shook her head. The thin snub of her nose turned up even higher than ever. It added emphasis to her refusal. “There ain’t any Santa Claus,” she said. “I never had any Christmas presents from him.”

“Well,” Lili insisted, “I ain’t either but I think there is a Santa Claus all right. He don’t know us, maybe, but he’s awfully good to some children. My cousin that goes to Sunday School gets a doll, and a box of candy, and an orange from him every Christmas. He has a long white beard an’ he’s ever so jolly!”

“Salvation Armies, they make Santa Clauses. They’re not real—only anybody dressed up. Most likely your cousin’s Santa Claus was like that,” Rose retorted. “The Salvation Army Santa Clauses they always stand by the street corners to catch Christmas dinner pennies in their pails.”

“No. ’Twasn’t that kind of a Santa Claus! He’s real!”

“Well, you won’t find him in no directory,” Rose argued. “You just go an’ look. All real folks’ names is in it an’ you won’t find Santa Claus. There ain’t any!”

With this parting thrust, Rose squeezed through a sudden opening in the line and escaped into the reading room beyond.

Lili waited for her book to be discharged, then she raised a questioning little hand toward the lady at the library desk.

“Please,” she asked, “where is the directory book?”

“Downstairs,” the librarian answered. And downstairs Lili went.

The directory book was really very, very big indeed. It was almost a pity that it couldn’t be a story book, for one could never have done with a story book that size. There’d always be something new to read in it. When the fat volume was opened on its desk, Lili studied it at random trying to make out what it all meant. She decided to begin at the very beginning, so she commenced with A, turned on to B, and ran her forefinger down page after page. It took a great deal of time and patience. The text was very small and Lili was afraid she might overlook it. Down page after page it travelled till it came to Claus—Oh, there it was: Claus, Adolph, carpenter! No. That couldn’t be Santa Claus—the whole name wasn’t right. And beside that, he wasn’t a carpenter, Lili felt sure.

How many people there were by the name of Claus! Well, with patience, one might find the right one! “Then I shall tell Rose that there is a Santa Claus for sure,” thought Lili. On down the list she went.

There was an S. T. Claus. That was the nearest to it. Who knows what that S. T. might mean in the way of abbreviation? The address was not far from the library. Lili decided to go down the avenue and find out if it were where the real Santa Claus lived.

The long winter twilight was beginning when Lili came out of the library. Already the lights from the grocery and the drugstore on the corner beyond warmed the cold gray stone of the pavement with red light. Further over, past the intersecting street, an arc lamp made a misty star in the dimness. Toward the star of light Lili made her way.

Yes, yes, she was on the right side of the street—she was getting nearer, nearer! Lili’s heart went pit-a-pat. Oh, there it was—There it was! It was a little shop that bore the number. Over its window was a sign, S. T. Claus. Somewhere Lili thought she had seen Santa Claus’ name written that way! It was the very place, no doubt!

In the shop-window was a wee green tinsel-covered tree. Toys were caught in the branches. They overflowed onto the broad base of the display-window—cats, dogs, carts, steam-engines, dolls, baby-carriages, jumping-jacks—Oh!

Lili stood staring, transfixed with wonder, for—for there in the store, visible through the lighted window, was a small, jolly-looking, white-bearded man—exactly like the picture of Santa Claus in the story book! To be sure, his white beard was not quite so long, and he wore a gray knit coat instead of a bright red one with white fur on it. But his occupation of stringing Christmas tree chains was so very Santa-Claus-like, there could be no mistake in identity!

Just here, he came to the window and added a box of gay candles to the display of toys. He looked out at Lili through the frosty panes and smiled. “Hello,” he called by way of cheery greeting.

“Hello,” returned Lili, and, somehow, before she knew it, she was standing in the shop beside the worn counter, looking up into the merry face of Mr. Claus.

“It was through the directory that I found you,” she smiled. “Rose Schneider, she says there ain’t no real Santa Claus—but I says there is for sure! A lot of children must have passed here an’ not known where Santa Claus lived maybe! But I found you!”

Santa Claus doubled in a hearty chuckle. “And here I am all the time,” he laughed, “just every day.”

“Didn’t anybody know you was the real Santa Claus?” Lili gazed confidently into the old man’s bright eyes. “They had ought to know by the sign,” she suggested.

“How should they?” the little man replied. “Santa Claus—everybody knows he likes to be an ordinary citizen. You won’t tell the kids, will you?”

Lili hesitated. “No, not if you don’t want I should. But there is Rose Schneider an’ she says there ain’t any real Santa Claus. It was through her saying that I found you in the directory. She said there wasn’t no such name there”—

There was a silence.

“I’ve got it,” he announced suddenly. “Just why don’t Rose believe in Santa Claus—because he never brought her any presents or what?”

“I think it’s because you’ve forgot her mostly,” returned Lili. “I says to her you forgot me, too—but you didn’t know about us maybe.”

He thought.

“Where do you two kids live?” he questioned.

She told him.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said he. “I don’t want the other children to find it out that I am the real Santa Claus, so you’d better not tell them. You run home now an’ you keep it quiet. Wait till real Santa Claus time at Christmas! THEN, Rose will believe!”

Ah, yes. And she did! It was a wonderful, wonderful Christmas for Lili and Rose. It was better even than Rose’s cousin’s Christmas, for they shared together a little tree that was left on Christmas Eve “From Santa Claus,” and each little girl had a doll, and some candy, and a game. “It’s from the real Santa Claus an’ I know him but you don’t, Rosie Schneider!” Lili beamed.And Rose retorted, “I do too believe in the real Santa Claus!”

“I want a story about the real Santa Claus and the little girl,” she demanded of the librarian at the children’s reading room next day. “Lili Fifer, she says it’s an awfully good story and she likes I should know more about him. It’s true for sure, ain’t it?”

And the librarian smiled.

Mary Elizabeth’s Soldierly Christmas

THE SECOND DECEMBER SURPRISE

Marjorie’s Christmas story was called “Mary Elizabeth’s Soldierly Christmas.” She said she liked it better than the story Dotty chose from the Surprise Book’s Christmas pocket. You can tell what you think about it for yourself, for here it is.