Daddy's happy laugh rolled around the small room of the little white house and mingled with excited giggles of the three small girls. Not much of a Christmas this year, 1926, but love and laughter made the candles in the windows flicker more brightly.

"Now girls, you know that if you haven't been good, Santa will only leave you coal, nutshells and banana peels in your stockings!"

"Oh, Daddy!" Ruth exclaimed and all three rolled their eyes. They'd heard it so often through the year it had become a familiar refrain.

"I want Santa to put in lots of nuts and hard candy. And maybe—if I've been very good, a big red apple, yellow banana, and best of all, an orange—a luscious, big, bright orange."

Each little girl held her stocking up for Daddy to hang on a nail pounded into the wall. There was no mantle, just a chubby black stove that pumped warmth into the small house.

"Daddy," Hazel looked up at him with big eyes. "You should hang your stocking up too. I know you have been good."

On a nod from Mother, Ruth ran to get a clean sock from Daddy's dresser drawer. Smiling, the three little girls and mother watched as he hung his sock beside the graduated sizes of his girls.

As the evening grew late, the snow was blown by the Wyoming wind that whipped through the small town. Prayer time came soon: "Bless Daddy, bless Mama, bless us, Amen." They were tucked into an icy bed, cuddling together in a cold room.

With the crisp dawn, the three girls could no longer wait to begin Christmas morning. Whispering, so they wouldn't wake Mama and Daddy, they crept silently into the front room. The sight of bulging black stockings greeted their eyes.

"He came! He came! Santa came!" chanted Grace.

"Shh!" Ruth almost shouted. "Be quiet!" And she pointed wordlessly to the last, most important sock. They couldn't believe their eyes! Santa had done the most awful thing they could ever imagine. Their daddy's stocking was full of lumpy coal, nut shells, and the brown peel of a banana hung over the top.

Almost crying, Hazel's voice quivered, "Doesn't Santa know our Daddy is the best daddy in all the world? I know he's been good." Taking down her stocking, she looked at it, full to the top. Chewing her lip she said, I could give him my orange. It's my very favorite!"

Not to be outdone, Ruth said, I think we should all give him something—our very best."

"Me-me-me too," four-year-old Grace chimed in. Ruth climbed up and unhooked the sock. They hurriedly dumped the contents into a box of trash on the back porch.

Then they filled his stocking, hooked the sock back on the nail, and hugged each other happily.

"Daddy, Daddy!" they chimed together and pulled and tugged him awake. "Come quick and see what Santa left you!"

They didn't understand why he stopped so abruptly or his surprised look at the sight of the sock. They eagerly unhooked it and poured its treasure into his lap. Then, looking up, they saw Daddy blowing his hose on his big white handkerchief and patting his eyes.

Whatever could be the matter? Wasn't he the most wonderful daddy in all the world? Santa should have known!