“It must be beautiful,” said Mrs. Hanlon, “but I wish the poor child could _see_ it;” and she gave a deep sigh.
“But he _will_,” replied Sam, brightly. “You haven’t forgotten what I told you about my Christmas present, have you?”
“No, indeed, I remember; I only hope you won’t be disappointed!”
“Of course it will come. It is sure to,” replied Sam, confidently. “Didn’t my little pony come all right?” And with a happy good-bye Sam ran down the steps and jumped into the sleigh.
“Dear little soul!” said Mrs. Hanlon, looking after him as he waved his hand gayly at her. “How disappointed he will be!” and the tears stood in her kind eyes as she closed the door and joined the little blind boy.
WHEN Sam went to bed that night, he pulled his window-shades to the very top of the window, that he might awake as early as possible. This arrangement had the desired effect, for when Mary came in he had examined all the presents that were in his Christmas stocking and was nearly dressed besides.
“I will tell you why I am in such a hurry,” he said in answer to Mary’s look of surprise. “I want to go over to see Billy the very first thing.”
“Oh, you must wait until after breakfast,” said Mary. “It is a very cold morning, and Billy is probably abed and fast asleep yet.”
“Oh, no, he isn’t,” said Sam. “He’ll be sure to be up. So give me my coat and cap, Mary, please.”
“Indeed, your grandmamma wouldn’t like to have you go out so early,” said Mary, “and such a beautiful breakfast as Cook has got!”
“I don’t care about that, Mary,” replied Sam, decidedly. “I _must_ see Billy the very first thing. I know the way very well.”
In vain Mary tried to persuade the little boy to wait until after breakfast, but he was so persistent she knew he would go alone if she refused to go with him; so she very reluctantly agreed to go. She dared not disturb his grandparents at so early an hour, or she would have appealed to them to decide the matter. So the two started out on their expedition.
Sam had never been in the streets at so early an hour. The sun rises late at this season of the year, and its bright rays were just streaming over the tall house-tops as Sam and Mary sallied forth. Most of the families in the neighborhood were still in bed, but the houses were being put in order for the day. Front steps were being swept down, front doors dusted, parlor shades drawn up, and sidewalks cleaned. Colonies of sparrows perched among the trees and secreted in the branches of the vines that grew against the houses, had not yet finished their morning hymns, and their joyous twittering was heard on every side.