Squeaky, Snythergen and Sancho Wing were very much surprised when they saw their unknown friend’s house—for it was the largest home they had even seen. They mounted the steps and Snythergen sounded the knocker on the great front door. Immediately it was opened by a flunky arrayed in shining silk clothes decorated with Teddy bears, parrots and goldfish embroidered in colors.

“Who lives here?” asked Sancho Wing in his piping voice.

“Santa Claus lives here,” answered the flunky.

“Santa Claus!!” chorused the three in amazement.

“So that’s the friend Blasterjinx meant!” said Snythergen. “I should say he was our friend!” But they could hardly believe that they really were at Santa Claus’ door, and in their surprise and wonder they forgot the doorkeeper who stood attentively awaiting their pleasure.

“We would like to see Santa Claus,” said Squeaky at last.

“I’m sorry, but no one can see him except by appointment,” said the flunky, “but if you will call at ten o’clock to-morrow morning you may have a chance to speak with him.” And with that he closed the great door and they were left alone on the doorstep.

“There must be some way to see him. I am going to investigate,” said Sancho Wing, and he flew off. Squeaky and Snythergen threw themselves on the ground in the shade of a great elm. “What a relief to have some other tree cast your shade for a change!” remarked Snythergen, just as Sancho Wing flew up very much flustered.

“I know where Santa’s room is!” he cried. “He is taking a nap now.”

“What good will that do us?” said Squeaky, ever practical like stout people generally.

“A great deal of good,” said Sancho Wing. “You and Snythergen wait near the door. I am going to make that flunky open it for you.” And he was off before they could make any reply.

Sancho Wing flew through the open window into Santa Claus’ room. Cautiously he approached the bed and hid in Santa Claus’ great white beard. Santa moved uneasily.

“There are three wise men here to see you,” whispered Sancho softly.

“Why didn’t somebody tell me?” murmured Santa Claus, half asleep.

“The doorkeeper said you wouldn’t see anybody except by appointment,” replied Sancho.

“Is that true?” mumbled Santa Claus drowsily.

“Yes, he would not open the door; that is why I came in through the window.”

Santa Claus woke up with a jump. “Who am I talking to!” he shouted—“or was it only a dream? Whoever you are come out and let me see you! What are you hiding for?”

“I am just a voice, Santa Claus, and the rest of me is not very presentable. My necktie is untied and there is a hole in my stocking.”

“Where are you hiding!” cried Santa Claus, and he looked under the bed, behind the chairs, and in the closets. Sancho Wing feared every moment he would be discovered, and tried to escape by flying out of the window. But his head had become caught in the long whiskers and he could go only the length of the beard in any direction. As he flew vigorously about the room trying to free his head Santa’s beard floated in the air like a living thing.

Too surprised to move or speak, Santa Claus could only gaze dumbly at his beard making serpentine movements in the air, or winding about his body as if to hide behind his back.

“What in the name of Popcorn is the matter with my beard!” cried Santa Claus, finding his voice at last.

Sancho Wing concluded that it was wiser to stop flying and let the beard settle back to its accustomed place, lest Santa Claus discover him. He was too hopelessly caught to escape by flying; but he was so well concealed by the whiskers that Santa Claus still failed to see him.

“Well, I give up!” said Santa Claus at last. “Wherever you are, you are well hidden. Did I understand you to say that you and your two friends had come to visit me? Where are the others?—since I can’t find you. Are they hiding too?”

“They are waiting at the door.”

“I invite you all to dinner,” said Santa Claus. “‘Three Wise Men’ I think you call yourselves?”

“Four, including our host,” said Sancho politely.

“Thanks!” said Santa Claus.

Sancho’s conscience was troubling him for he had hesitated to explain that they were not just ordinary men, lest Santa Claus might not want to see them.

“When I said we were men,” began Sancho, “I used the word ‘men’ in a broad sense, to include birds, animals and trees.”

Santa Claus yawned and stretched his arms. He liked a chat after his nap.

“I am glad to see you are democratic,” said he. “I think it is too bad that birds, animals and trees are so often left out. If they could talk they might say some unkind things of us.”

“No, indeed, we won’t, Santa Claus,” assured Sancho eagerly.

“We? Who are ‘we’?” asked Santa Claus.

“One of us is a boy-tree. He is a boy by birth, but a tree by profession.”

“Go on,” demanded Santa Claus.

“Then there is Squeaky, who is a voice with a pig’s body; and as for me, well, you know me.”

“I know your voice, but the rest of you?” asked Santa Claus.

“Is a goldfinch,” answered Sancho.

“Three wise men indeed,” muttered Santa Claus. “How interesting it will be to have dinner with a pig, a tree, and a goldfinch! But what can we have to eat that three such different guests will enjoy?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” said Sancho Wing. “You can give the others birdseed porridge.”

“And you?” asked Santa Claus, with a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, I’ll eat some too,” said Sancho, with seeming indifference, though it made his bill water to think of his favorite dish.

“What will we do for table conversation?” asked Santa Claus. “I don’t know what subjects trees, pigs and birds like to talk about.”

“You won’t need to help us talk,” said Sancho. “We are worse than magpies when we are together.”

“You may go back to your friends now,” said Santa Claus, “and I’ll see that you are admitted to the house.”

Sancho made an effort to walk out of the beard in a dignified manner, but he was too firmly caught to get away so easily. He began to pull and struggle.

“Ouch!” cried Santa Claus, “who’s pulling my beard?”

“I can’t get out,” cried Sancho Wing.

“So there’s where you are! In my beard! Well, of all the places to hide!” cried Santa Claus in the greatest amazement. With a pair of shears and a mirror he succeeded in freeing the little bird after the exercise of a good deal of patience.

As soon as he was released Sancho told Santa Claus he was sorry for the trouble he had caused, thanked him for the invitation to dinner, and flew back to his companions.