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When the Pie was opened,
The Birds began to sing;

Was not that a dainty Dish
To set before the King?

The King was in his Counting-house
Counting out his Money.

The Queen was in the Parlor,
Eating Bread and Honey.

The Maid was in the Garden,
Hanging out the Clothes;

There came a little Blackbird,

And nipped off her Nose.
But there came a Jenny Wren
And popped it on again.

HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME.

BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.

"Now, Don," said Rad Burnell, dolefully, "do you believe any kind of a snow-storm could stop Santa Claus?"

"From coming?"

"Well, yes, that's it. I heard father tell mother 'he' couldn't get here in time, and I know he meant something about Christmas, by the way he looked at Petish and Molly."

"Was Berry there?"

"She was sound asleep in the cradle, and mother said, 'Berry won't care, but it'll be a dispoint for the rest of 'em.'"

"It's an awful snow-storm, Rad, but I guess Santa Claus'll come, for all of that."

Just a little later, Mr. Burnell said to his wife, "I'm sorry we didn't get our things in the village, Maria; but it's too late now. Don't say anything to the children. It'll be bad enough when it comes."

Nobody else heard him, but Mrs. Burnell looked as if she wanted to cry.

That was one of the whitest nights anybody in the world ever saw, for the snow had thrown the thickest kind of a white blanket over everything. Some of the roads were drifted level from fence to fence, and the railroads were having a tremendous time of it. Anything so black as a locomotive could hardly feel at home, pushing its way along through so white a country or into so white a village as Middleville was that Christmas-eve.

It was a dreadfully long night, and Petish woke up three times, and tried to make herself believe it was morning. The last time she heard the great clock in the Academy steeple, on the village green, pounding away at its task of telling what time it was.

"I'll count," said Petish. "Nine—twelve—seven—fourteen—fiveteen—six—I guess it's 'most time to get up. Must be it's Christmas now."

Just then she heard a noise in the next room, and she listened with all her ears. First it was a rustle, and then the loudest kind of a whisper—loud enough to have been heard in daytime.

"Rad! Rad! it's just struck five. Let's take a scoot down stairs and see about it. We can hurry right back again."

"They're pulling on their stockings," said Petish. "I'll get up and pull on mine, but I won't let them see me."

She tried very hard to get up without waking Molly; but it was of no use, for Molly's sleep had been begun at the right time, and was fairly over now, considering that it was Christmas morning.

"Oh, Petish, what are you going to do?"

"'Sh! 'sh! Molly. The boys are going down stairs to look, and I'm going too. Lie still."

But Molly was two years older than Petish, and she wouldn't lie still. She was out on the floor in a twinkling, and she made Petish wrap herself all up in a blanket, and she pretty nearly buried her own chubby shape in a comfortable.

That was about what Rad and Don had done already, and they were now carefully creeping down stairs in the dark.

The door of the front parlor was nearest the foot of the stairs, and the boys left it open after them when they went in, but Molly and Petish closed it very softly and carefully the moment they were safe in the dim, gloomy parlor. The boys were just beyond the folding-doors at that moment, and did not see that they were followed.

Berry was sound asleep in her crib, within reach of her mother, or she would have heard her say, just then, "Oh, John, it's a dreadful disappointment! What will those poor children do?"

"Poor Petish!" said Mr. Burnell. "We can explain it to the boys, and they can wait, and to Molly, but it'll be bad enough for any of 'em."

"But Petish'll break her little heart if she finds that Santa Claus hasn't come."

"It'll be almost as much of a disappointment to Aunt Sally and Frank. I hope they'll bring Mid with them when they come."

"Of course they will."

Now that had been a very long, white, beautiful, dark night, and a great many queer things had happened in it. They are sure to, in any "night before Christmas"; but there had been a wonderfully deep snow-storm.

Away on toward morning, just when the Academy clock was trying to make sound-asleep people hear that it was really four, a tired-out and frosty-looking railway train came smoking and coughing up to the platform at the village railway station.

It did not stop long, but some people got out of one of the sleeping-cars, and some baggage was tumbled out of the baggage-car, and a sleepy man with a lantern said: "Yes, sir. Carriage yer in a minute, sir. All right."

"We don't want any carriage, my man. Take our checks, and have our trunks brought over to Mr. Burnett's before seven o'clock. We'll walk right there now. Come, Sally. Come along, Mid."

"Frank! husband! you'll drop some of those things!"

"No, I won't, Sally."

"Mid, my dear boy, look out for that box; it's only pasteboard."

"I'll be careful, mother. I ain't awake yet. But it takes all three of us to Santa Claus this pile. Hope it isn't far."

The cold, frosty air was fast getting Mid wide awake, and they did look, all three of them, as if they would have done better with a sleigh and a good team of reindeer.

The distance was short, but Aunt Sally talked pretty nearly all the way.

"We must do it, Frank," she said, as they drew near the gate. "I'm sure they've given us up. We can get in. There never was any bolt on the kitchen window, over the pump. Middleton can climb right in, and come and open the side door for us."

"Oh, but won't that be fun!" exclaimed Mid, as he hurried silently forward.

"'Sh! there, Sally," whispered Uncle Frank, as he and his portly, merry-faced wife lugged their bundles after Mid.

It was less than half a minute before they were in the kitchen. They promptly shut