For his first many Christmases, Feuilly would spend the joyful holiday in his bed at the orphanage, counting every reason why he didn’t get presents every year. He heard stories of the man who brought presents to children on the night before Christmas, and the man always sounded so nice. Perhaps the man was too busy to get to the orphanage, or maybe he didn’t do deliveries to orphanages, or maybe Feuilly was just a bad kid.

Now, Feuilly almost always has a bag of small toys and trinkets (that he made himself), and he will hand them out to the homeless children around Christmas time. His mind reels back to the poor Polish orphan who sang Christmas carols under his breath with tears streaming down his cheeks, and the thought of another child feeling like they didn’t deserve a Christmas breaks his heart.


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