“Isn’t it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You’ll have to look

at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it

looks on it.”

Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the

back of his head and smiled.

“Dell,” said he, “let’s put our Christmas presents away and keep ’em a while.

They’re too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to

buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on.”

The magi, as you know, were wise men—wonderfully wise men—who brought gifts to

the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents.

Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege

of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the

uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely

sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last

word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these

two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest.

Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.