They showed me bricks and they showed me pictures of what the bricks would build. Palaces, simply palaces. Gone was the Balbus-wall of our youth; gone was the fort with its arrow-holes for the archers. Nothing now but temples and Moorish palaces.

"Jove, I should love that," I said." I mean HE would love that. Do you want much land for a house of that size? I know of a site on the nursery floor, but--well, of course, we could always have an iron building outside in the passage for the billiard table."

We paid and moved off again.

"What are you mumbling about now?" I asked.

"I said you'll only make the boy discontented with his present home if you teach him to build nothing but castles and ruined abbeys and things. And you WILL run to bulk. Half of those bricks would have made a very nice present for anybody."

"Yes, and when royalty comes on a visit, where would you put them? They'd have to pig it in the box-room. If we're going to have a palace, let's have a good one."

"Very well. What do your children hang up? Stockings or pillow-cases?"

We went downstairs again.

"Having provided for the engineer and the architect," I said, "we now have to consider the gentleman in the dairy business. I want a milk-cart."

"You want a milk-cart! You want a milk-cart! You want a--Why not have a brewer's dray? Why not have something really heavy? The reindeer wouldn't mind. They've been out every day this week, but they'd love it. What about a nice skating-rink? What about--"

I put him head downwards in my pocket and approached an official.

"Do you keep milk-carts?" I said diffidently.

He screwed up his face and thought.

"I could get you one," he said.

"I don't want you to build one specially for me. If they aren't made, I expect it's because mothers don't like them. It was just an idea of mine."

"Oh yes, they're made. I can show a picture of one in our catalogue."

He showed it to me. It was about the size of a perambulator, and contained every kind of can. I simply had to let Father Christmas see.

"Look at that!" I exclaimed in delight.

"Good lord!" he said, and dived into the pocket again.

I held him there tightly and finished my business with the official.

Father Christmas has never spoken since. Sometimes I wonder if he ever spoke at all, for one imagines strange things in the Children's Shop. He stands now on my writing-table, and observes me with the friendly smile which has been so fixed a feature of his since I brought him home.

MISS MIDDLETON

I.--TAKING A CALL

"MAY I come in?" said Miss Middleton.

I looked up from my book and stared at her in amazement.

"Hullo," I said.

"Hullo," said Miss Middleton doubtfully.

"Are you going to have tea with me?"

"That's what I was wondering all the way up."

"It's all ready; in fact, I've nearly finished. There's a cake to-day, too."

Miss Middleton hesitated at the door and looked wistfully at me.

"I suppose--I suppose," she said timidly, "you think I ought to have brought somebody, with me?"

"In a way, I'm just as glad you didn't."

"I've heaps of chaperons outside on the stairs, you know."

"There's no place like outside for chaperons."

"And the liftman believes I'm your aunt. At least, perhaps he doesn't, but I mentioned it to him."

I looked at her, and then I smiled. And then I laughed.

"So that's all right," she said breathlessly. "And I want my tea." She came in, and began to arrange her hat in front of the glass.

"Tea," I said, going to the cupboard. "I suppose you'll want a cup to yourself. There you are--don't lose it. Milk. Sugar."

Miss Middleton took a large piece of cake. "What were you studying so earnestly when I came in?" she asked as she munched.

"A dictionary."

"But how lucky I came. Because I can spell simply everything. What is it you want to know?"

"I don't want to know how to spell anything, thank you; but I believe you can help me all the same."

Miss Middleton sat down and drank her tea. "I love helping," she said.

"Well, it's this. I've just been asked to be a godfather."

Miss Middleton stood up suddenly. "Do I salute," she asked.

"You sit down and go on eating. The difficulty is--what to call it?"

"Oh, do godfathers provide the names?"

"I think so. It is what they are there for, I fancy. That is about all there is in it, I believe."

"And can't you find anything in the dictionary?"

"Well, I don't think the dictionary is helping as much as I expected. It only muddles me. Did you know that Algernon meant 'with whiskers'? I'm not thinking of calling it Algernon, but that's the sort of thing they spring on you."

"But I hate Algernon anyhow. Why not choose quite a simple name? Had you thought of 'John,' for instance?"

"No, I hadn't thought of 'John,' somehow."

"Or 'Gerald'?"

"'Gerald' I like very much."

"What about 'Dick'?" she went on eagerly.

"Yes, 'Dick' is quite jolly. By the way, did I tell you it was a girl?"

Miss Middleton rose with dignity.

"For your slice of plum cake and your small cup of tea I thank you," she said; "and I am now going straight home to mother."

"Not yet," I pleaded.

"I'll just ask you one question before I go. Where do you keep the biscuits?"

She found the biscuits and sat down again.

"A girl's name," I said encouragingly.

"Yes. Well, is she fair or dark?"

"She's very small at present. What there is of her is dark, I believe."

"Well, there are millions of names for dark girls."

"We only want one or two."

"'Barbara' is a nice dark name. Is she going to be pretty?"

"Her mother says she is. I didn't recognize the symptoms. Very pretty and very clever and very high-spirited, her mother says. Is there a name for that?"

"_I_ always call them whoppers," said Miss Middleton.

"How do you like 'Alison Mary'? That was my first idea."

"Oh, I thought it was always 'William and Mary.' Or else 'Victoria and Albert.'"