MOTIONLESS, facing the curtain of glorious mist, Whitefoot stood. On his back, as motionless, sat Tuktu. Once more the clicking of many feet had begun. The great herd¹ was moving. Tuktu did not turn to look. She was not exactly frightened, but she was filled with a great awe². She felt as if she could not take her eyes from that curtain of mist, even if she would. The clicking back of her grew fainter. Then it ceased altogether. Still Whitefoot stood motionless.
 
Directly in front of Tuktu the mist began to glow, first faintly pink, then a beautiful rose, and finally a rich, warm red. Tuktu drew a long breath and closed her eyes.
 
When she opened them again, there stood before her one such as she had never seen before.
 
He was short and jolly and round and fat,
With a fur trimmed coat and a fur trimmed hat.
He was dressed all in red. His hair was white and he wore a long, white beard. Never had Tuktu seen such a beard before. Eskimos have beards that are straggly and black. His eyes twinkled, like the twinkling of the stars on a frosty night. Around them were many fine wrinkles. They were laugh wrinkles. He was laughing now.
 
He laughed “Ha! Ha!” and he laughed “Ho! Ho!”
“Hello, little girl,” he cried, “Hello!
What are you doing alone up here?
Have you come in search of your straying deer?”
Poor Tuktu! She couldn’t find her tongue. She knew who this must be. She knew that this must be the Good Spirit—the Good Spirit whom no one had ever seen. She felt that she ought to slip from Whitefoot’s back and bow herself at the Good Spirit’s feet. But she couldn’t move. No, sir, she couldn’t move. When at last she could find her tongue, all she could do was to whisper, “Are you the Good Spirit?”
 
Those eyes looking at her in such a kindly³
 
way, twinkled more than ever, and all the little laugh wrinkles around them grew deeper. He began to shake all over. He shook and shook. And he laughed so merrily that presently Tuktu herself began to laugh. She couldn’t help it. It was catching⁴. Yes, sir, it was catching.
 
“Ho! Ho!” said he, “My dear Tuktu,
It may be I am that to you.
I hope I am. It seems to me
That nothing could much nicer be.
“But elsewhere all the great world ’round,
Wherever there are children found,
I’m known as Santa Clause, my dear;
Or else, perchance, of me you hear
As Old Saint Nick, who once a year
With pack and sleigh and wondrous⁵ deer
To little folk who ha............