Mrs. Kriss Kringle

Edith M. Thomas

Oh, I laugh to hear what grown folk

Tell the young folk of Kriss Kringle,

In the Northland, where unknown folk

Love to feel the frost-wind tingle.

Yes, I laugh to hear the grown folk

Tell you young folk how Kriss Kringle

Travels round the world like lone folk,

None to talk with—always single!

Would a grim and grave old fellow

(Not a chick nor child to care for)

Keep a heart so warm and mellow

That all children he’d prepare for?

Do you think, my little maiden,

He could ever guess your wishes—

That you’d find your stocking laden

With a doll and set of dishes?

No; the truth is, some one whispers

In the ear he hears the best with,

What to suit the youngest lispers,

Boys and girls, and all the rest with.

Some one (ah, you guess in vain, dear!)

Nestled close by old Kriss Kringle,

Laughs to see the prancing reindeer,

Laughs to hear the sledge bells jingle.

Dear old lady, small and rosy!

In the nipping Christmas weather,

Nestled close, so warm and cozy,

These two chat, for hours together.

Oh, her step is always lightest,

And her smile is much the oddest,

And her eye, by far the brightest,

Spies the stocking howe’er modest.

So, if I were in your places,

Rob and Hal, and Kate and Mary,

I would be in the good graces

Of this lovely, shy old fairy.

But I laugh to hear the grown folk

Tell you young folk how Kriss Kringle

Travels ’round the world, like lone folk,—

None to talk with—always single!