"Oh Ben, 'tis only the first of December, and I've had a letter from Santa Claus already," said Amy Graham to her brother, as they walked across the fields, on their way to school.
"Nonsense," said matter-of-fact Ben, "You're always getting notions into your head, Amy. You can tell such silly things to girls who read fairy stories and such stuff; but you don't suppose a boy is going to believe them do you? In the first place, there isn't any real Santa Claus to write you a letter; and if there were such a person, how would he know you from any body else?" Ben was really excited, and somewhat out of patience also with his sister for thinking such foolish thoughts. But nothing daunted, Amy answered all his questions and arguments together, by saying, "Well, when I show it to you, you will believe it. I haven't seen it myself yet; but I know I shall find it just where Santa Claus said he had left it." "And I should like to know," retorted Ben, with something of a sneer, "when and where you talked with Santa Claus?" He was becoming impressed in spite of himself, with Amy's tones and manner of delighted assurance.
"I had a dream last night," she went on to tell him, "and in it I had a visit from Santa Claus, in which he said he had written me a letter; he told me just where it was, and gave me something to read it with: and if I find the jewel which tells me how to read it, hanging on the very tree he pointed out, I shall be so happy,—Oh! do hurry, Ben," she added, "before the letter melts." "Melts!" exclaimed Ben,—Amy, this is more foolish than ever: how can a letter melt? What is it made of? "
