She was forever overworked and tired, yet she always found time to make gingerbread women with currant buttons on their frocks, and pudgy doughnut men with clove eyes and cigars of cinnamon.

If my own stocking lay on the hearth, Candace's had to go in a place that satisfied her--that was one sure thing.

Besides, I had to make up to her for what Leon did, because she was crying into the corner of her apron about that.
He slipped in and stole her stocking, hung it over the broomstick, and marched around the breakfast table singing to the tune of-- "Ha, ha, ha, who wouldn't go-- Up on the housetop click, click, click?
Down through the chimney, With good Saint Nick----" words he made up himself.

He walked just fast enough that she couldn't catch him, and sang as he went: "Ha, ha, ha, good Saint Nick, Come and look at this stocking, quick! If you undertake its length to fill, You'll have to bust a ten-dollar bill.
Who does it belong to?
Candace Swartz.
Bring extra candy,--seven quarts----" She got so angry she just roared, so father made Leon stop it, but I couldn't help laughing myself.

Then we had to pet her all day, so she'd cheer up, and not salt the Christmas dinner with her tears.