FATHER CHRISTMAS AT HOME
" Why, that's my name !"
" Of course. I know you, I know you through and through — good and bad—and I wish I didn't."
" You're a horrid story-teller," said Eva angrily.
" Supposing I am! It's easier to tell stories than to tell the truth. Saves a lot of trouble. Besides, it's nice. You know that as well as I do."
Eva would have liked to deny it, only she felt too scornful. " Saves trouble ? " she said to herself. " Makes trouble." But she flushed as she remembered she had once thought that too, but only for a moment; and she was ashamed of it now. She was ruffled and uncomfortable at the proximity of this horrid girl, who now said slyly: " Look over there in that cupboard, there's a doll that has been forgotten. I want it, and I'm going to take it and hide it under my pinafore."
" You mayn't—you mustn't! " cried Eva. " It would be stealing."
" I don't care. Father Christmas won't know."
" Yes, he will. I shall tell him !"
" Then I'll say it was given to me."
" You horrid girl! You dreadful story-teller !"
" Don't be silly. What does it matter telling stories and stealing, so long as you're not found out ?"