“Oh, I never had such a dream before.” She scarcely dared to stir; but at last she pushed the bedclothes aside, and put her feet on the floor with a rapturous smile.
“I am dreaming—I am getting out of bed,” she heard her own voice say; and then, as she stood up in the midst of it all, turning slowly from side to side—“I am dreaming it stays—real! I’m dreaming it FEELS real. It’s bewitched—or I’m bewitched. I only THINK I see it all.” Her words began to hurry themselves. “If I can only keep on thinking
hearing many stories about children who were poor and had no mammas and papas to fill their stockings and take them to the pantomime— children who were, in fact, cold and thinly clad and hungry. In the stories, kind people—sometimes little boys and girls with tender hearts—invariably saw the poor children