Here Santa Claus paused and gave three knocks on the oak door.
"Who is there ?" demanded a voice, that sounded like David Nesbit's.
"Kris Kringle and three good children." "Enter into the realm of Christmas," answered the voice, and the door was flung open.
The sight that greeted them was sufficiently brilliant to dazzle their eyes for a moment.

In one corner of the dining room stood the great tree, radiant with gilt and silver ornaments.

At the top was a huge silver star, while the branches were wound with glittering tinsel, and heavily laden with beribboned bundles of all shapes and sizes, while the space around the base of the tree was completely filled with presents.
At one side of the tree stood a graceful figure clad in a white robe that glittered and sparkled as though covered with diamonds.

She wore a gilt crown on her head and carried a scepter, while over her shoulder trailed a long garland of holly fastened with scarlet ribbons.

It was Grace Harlowe in a robe made of cotton wadding thickly sprinkled with diamond dust, gotten up to represent the spirit of Christmas.
On the other side of the tree lay old Father Time, apparently fast asleep, his sickle by his side.