The end of his bed gave ample proof that his father’s dismal forebodings about Santa Claus had not been needed: a bulky stocking, with strange hollows and protuberances, ornamented one post and yielded such treasures as a new bridle, a pair of leather leggings, and a stockwhip, with other offerings showing clearly that the saint fully realized that this particular boy had moved from the city.  That was good: and good it was, on his way to his bath, to meet Bran, resplendent in a new collar. But when an enormous bundle on his chair at breakfast-time revealed the very desire of his heart, a dainty, light saddle, Garth was speechless. He could only hug his father and mother again and again, and feel the saddle lovingly, and smile at them in a silence that they quite understood.