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Wearing the pink silky pajamas that were also gifts from the grandparents made them feel special. Pretty. Just like Shirley Temple in the movie "The Little Princess." They felt as if they lived in a mansion instead of the tiny ten-by-fifty-foot trailer that was their home.
"You kids go to sleep now, or Santa isn't going to come!" scolded Mama through the door. "If you don't stop talking I am going to turn out the light." The sisters promised they would be quiet and they closed their eyes and tried their best to comply, but after Mama was in the kitchen, the girls resumed their soft jabbering.
"How do you think he gets in our house when we don't have a chimney?"
"Well, Mama says he has a magic key that works on all houses without chimneys."
"I think he can make himself very, very tiny and come in through the keyhole like Daddy says."
"How do you think he eats all those cookies that all those children leave him without getting a belly ache?"
"He probably gives some to his reindeer and takes some back for the elves and Mrs Claus."
As they whispered in the soft, yellow glow of the tiny lamp, their eyes grew heavy. Soon their breathing was steady and rhythmic. Their eyes moved back and forth behind their lids as dreams of sugarplums and fairies, and Santa danced in their heads.