by Mark Twain
I have received and read all the letters which you and your little
sister have written me . . . . I can read your and your baby
sister’s jagged and fantastic marks without any trouble at all. But
I had trouble with those letters which you dictated through your
mother and the nurses, for I am a foreigner and cannot read English
writing well. You will find that I made no mistakes about the things
which you and the baby ordered in your own letters–I went down your
chimney at midnight when you were asleep and delivered them all
myself–and kissed both of you, too . . . . But . . . there
were . . . one or two small orders which I could not fill because we
ran out of stock . . . .
There was a word or two in your mama’s letter which . . . I took to
be “a trunk full of doll’s clothes.” Is that it? I will call at your
kitchen door about nine o’clock this morning to inquire. But I must
not see anybody and I must not speak to anybody but you. When the
kitchen doorbell rings, George must be blindfolded and sent to the
door. You must tell George he must walk on tiptoe and not speak–
otherwise he will die someday. Then you must go up to the nursery
and stand on a chair or the nurse’s bed and put your ear to the
speaking tube that leads down to the kitchen and when I whistle
through it you must speak in the tube and say, “Welcome, Santa
Claus!” Then I will ask whether it was a trunk you ordered or not.
If you say it was, I shall ask you what color you want the trunk to
be . . . and then you must tell me every single thing in detail
which you want the trunk to contain. Then when I say “Good-by and a
merry Christmas to my little Susy Clemens,” you must say “Good-by,
good old Santa Claus, I thank you very much.” Then you must go down
into the library and make George close all the doors that open into
the main hall, and everybody must keep still for a little while. I
will go to the moon and get those things and in a few minutes I will
come down the chimney that belongs to the fireplace that is in the
hall–if it is a trunk you want–because I couldn’t get such a thing
as a trunk down the nursery chimney, you know . . . .If I should
leave any snow in the hall, you must tell George to sweep it into
the fireplace, for I haven’t time to do such things. George must not
use a broom, but a rag–else he will die someday . . . . If my boot
should leave a stain on the marble, George must not holystone it
away. Leave it there always in memory of my visit; and whenever you
look at it or show it to anybody you must let it remind you to be a
good little girl. Whenever you are naughty and someone points to
that mark which your good old Santa Claus’s boot made on the marble,
what will you say, little sweetheart?
Good-by for a few minutes, till I come down to the world and ring the kitchen doorbell.
January 20-24
Read and answer.
HOW DO SANTA CLAUS AND HIS ELVES HAVE TIME TO DELIVER PRESENTS TO EVERY CHILD?
by Mark Twain
Palace of Saint Nicholas in the Moon, Christmas Morning
My Dear Susy Clemens,
I have received and read all the letters which you and your little
sister have written me . . . . I can read your and your baby
sister’s jagged and fantastic marks without any trouble at all. But
I had trouble with those letters which you dictated through your
mother and the nurses, for I am a foreigner and cannot read English
writing well. You will find that I made no mistakes about the things
which you and the baby ordered in your own letters–I went down your
chimney at midnight when you were asleep and delivered them all
myself–and kissed both of you, too . . . . But . . . there
were . . . one or two small orders which I could not fill because we
ran out of stock . . . .
There was a word or two in your mama’s letter which . . . I took to
be “a trunk full of doll’s clothes.” Is that it? I will call at your
kitchen door about nine o’clock this morning to inquire. But I must
not see anybody and I must not speak to anybody but you. When the
kitchen doorbell rings, George must be blindfolded and sent to the
door. You must tell George he must walk on tiptoe and not speak–
otherwise he will die someday. Then you must go up to the nursery
and stand on a chair or the nurse’s bed and put your ear to the
speaking tube that leads down to the kitchen and when I whistle
through it you must speak in the tube and say, “Welcome, Santa
Claus!” Then I will ask whether it was a trunk you ordered or not.
If you say it was, I shall ask you what color you want the trunk to
be . . . and then you must tell me every single thing in detail
which you want the trunk to contain. Then when I say “Good-by and a
merry Christmas to my little Susy Clemens,” you must say “Good-by,
good old Santa Claus, I thank you very much.” Then you must go down
into the library and make George close all the doors that open into
the main hall, and everybody must keep still for a little while. I
will go to the moon and get those things and in a few minutes I will
come down the chimney that belongs to the fireplace that is in the
hall–if it is a trunk you want–because I couldn’t get such a thing
as a trunk down the nursery chimney, you know . . . .If I should
leave any snow in the hall, you must tell George to sweep it into
the fireplace, for I haven’t time to do such things. George must not
use a broom, but a rag–else he will die someday . . . . If my boot
should leave a stain on the marble, George must not holystone it
away. Leave it there always in memory of my visit; and whenever you
look at it or show it to anybody you must let it remind you to be a
good little girl. Whenever you are naughty and someone points to
that mark which your good old Santa Claus’s boot made on the marble,
what will you say, little sweetheart?
Good-by for a few minutes, till I come down to the world and ring the kitchen doorbell.
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