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A Letter from
Santa Claus
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?
Read this Christmas article at American Literature
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