Now you go right to sleep this minute, while I watch you.

Look how fine and good Allan is." She spoke low, not to awaken the one virtuous sleeper, who seemed thereupon to breathe with a more swelling and obtrusive rectitude.
"Clytie--now--_ain't_ there any Santa Claus ?" "Now what a sinful question _that_ is!" "But _is_ there ?" "Don't he bring you things ?" "Oh, there _ain't_ any!" There was a sullen desperation in this, as of one done with quibbles.

But the woman still paltered wretchedly.
"Well, if you don't lie down and go to sleep quicker'n a wink I bet you anything he won't bring you a single play-pretty." There came an unmistakable blare of triumph into the busy snore on the cot.
But the heart of the skeptic was sunk.

This evasion was more disillusioning than downright confession.

A moment the little boy regarded her, wholly in sorrow, with big eyes that blinked alarmingly.