A Miserable, Merry Christmas

Christmas was coming. I wanted a pony. To make sure that my parents understood, I declared that I wanted noting else.

"Nothing but a pony?" my father asked.

"Nothing," I said.

"Not even a pair of high boots?"

That was hard. I did want boots, but I stuck to the pony. "No, not even boots."

"Nor candy? There ought to be something to fill your stocking with, and Santa Claus can't put a pony into a stocking,"

That was true, and he couldn't lead a pony down the chimney either . But no. "All I want is a pony," I said. "If I can't have a pony, give me nothing, nothing."

On Christmas Eve I hung up my stocking along with my sisters.

The next morning my sisters and I woke up at six. Then we raced downstairs to the fireplace. And there they were, the gifts, all sorts of wonderful things, mixed-up piles of presents. Only my stocking was empty; it hung limp; not a thing in it; and under and around it -- nothing. My sisters had knelt down, each by her pile of gifts; they were crying with delight, till they looked up and saw me standing there looking so miserable. They came over to me and felt my stocking: nothing.

I don't remember whether I cried at that moment, but my sisters did. They ran with me back to my bed, and there we all cried till I became indignant. That helped some. I got up, dressed, and driving my sisters away赶跑, I went out alone into the stable, and there, all by myself, I wept. My mother came out to me and she tried to comfort me. But I wanted no comfort. She left me and went on into the house with sharp words for my father.