The Commercial Appeal offers this original Christmas tale as a special gift to our readers, young and old. To hear the story read by Playhouse on the Square company member Shani Alexander, choose one of the selections listed with this story.

All across the big city, chilled noses searched the sugary air.

The smell was everywhere. A warm, rich smell.

The smell of baking Christmas cookies!

One sniff and the mind danced to the music of the holiday, with a thump, thump, thump of the heart, a mmm, mmm, mmm of a tasty dinner, a ring, ring, ring of sleigh bells.

Who could be making so many Christmas cookies that would make the whole city smell so good?

Sniff sniff. Nope, there wasn't a new cookie factory in town. Sniff sniff. Nope, it didn't come from the big old mansions where a hundred cooks were making thousands of Christmas Eve cookies.

You'd need a hound dog's big nose to track it down. If you were curious, you'd sniff away from the bright downtown. Sniff down the weed-grown streets and broken-glass corners.

You'd sniff your way to a small rectangular house with chipping white paint.

By the smell of it, you'd think it was packed full of warm cookies, enough to feed the entire city.

But the only thing you'd find inside was a little girl, a hot stove, and one cookie pan.

Angela Jones was so small she had to use a step-stool to reach the counter.

She only had a few dough balls left to bake. Even then, there weren't many cookies at all.

She couldn't afford fancy ingredients. She borrowed them from her neighbors and was especially careful walking home with the egg. For chocolate, she broke up a candy bar bought with the nickels and dimes she'd saved.

But for some strange reason, these few cookies magically smelled up the whole town.

How could that happen?

Maybe it was because she used the special recipe found in a little box of her mother's favorite things.

Not even a year had passed since Mama's funeral. Angela missed her so much it hurt every single day. It even hurt to look in the mirror because she missed the braids and cornrows her mother used to make. Daddy only knew how to make pigtails.

Every day, Angela looked at the things in the box. There was a necklace with a silver cross, some pictures, a worn Bible, and a card with a cookie recipe.

The card said "COOKIES THAT MAKE LOVE GROW."

Angela knew she had to make them. Not for herself. But for the one person who could help her and her daddy.

Santa Claus.

At that moment, the front door burst open. Daddy came stomping into the house swinging his heavy saxophone case.

He didn't say "hello."

He didn't say "nice to see you."

He said, "Angela! What trouble are you getting into now?"

She shyly told him she was making Christmas cookies for Santa.

"Christmas cookies?" he bellowed. "We can't afford to make Christmas cookies."

When she told him that she borrowed all the ingredients, he shouted, "Borrowed?! We can't pay people back!"

Daddy sat down heavily at the table. He looked in the newspaper's "help wanted" section and frowned.

"Angela, did you turn up the heat in here? I told you, we have to save money by keeping the heat down."

Angela quietly replied, "No Daddy, it's just extra heat from the stove."

She loved her daddy so much, but lately he wasn't very nice. He was always grumpy, bossy and worried about money. He quit asking her about her schoolwork. It felt like he didn't love her anymore.

Only two things made him happy, it seemed. The first was having his whole family together. But Mama was gone.

The second was playing music. Daddy could play the blues better than anyone in the whole world, she thought.

But it seemed like no bands needed a saxophone player. Daddy spent every day worried about finding a job and getting money.

Yes, her cookies would have to be very special to get her Christmas wish. She wrote a note:

"Dear Santa, I don't need any presents. Please make my daddy happy again."

Christmas Eve was ice cold, but the stars twinkled so bright, she imagined there was a Nativity under each one. Looking up through her frosty breath, she searched the sky for Santa's sleigh. Once, she thought she saw Rudolph's red nose, but it was just an airplane.

"Angela!" her father yelled. "Come in off the porch and close that door. You're letting the heat out!"

"I was just looking for Santa," she said.

Her father frowned as he sorted through his bills. The electric bill. The water bill. The gas bill. And all those taxes.

"Santa doesn't come to this part of town," he grumbled.

But Angela didn't believe Daddy. Santa visits all kids no matter where they live.

She placed Santa's note and the plate of cookies near the cold, cob-webbed fire place.

The house was colder than usual, so Angela got an extra blanket out of the closet - a quilt her mother made when Angela was just a baby. She curled up on the couch and covered up.

She pretended to fall asleep. After a while, Daddy stomped into his room and closed the door. Click! The light went off. The house was very, very quiet.

Angela tried to stay awake. But as she waited for Santa, her eyes got heavier and heavier. She tried to hold them open with her fingers. But no luck.

Angela fell asleep.

What an amazing dream she had!

She dreamed that the drafty fireplace sprang to life with a warm, glowing fire. Smells of holiday foods made her mouth water. A Christmas tree appeared in the empty corner. It was brightly lit, but not with electric lights - with glowing lightning bugs of many colors! Golden ornaments sparkled in the firelight.

Best of all, the room had a warmth that went all through her body; like the warmth of a good, long laugh or a bear hug from Grandpa.

Then giant sacks of pres ents crowded the room. In the middle of it all stood Santa himself!

He looked just like the pictures, except even merrier.

Santa was about to reach into a sack when his big nose did a little twitch. He smelled the cookies, now nice and warm from being close to the fire.

Santa never refuses homemade cookies. He reached down and picked one up.

He took a bite of the special cookie.

His eyes widened. A huge smile spread across his face.

But there was so much love in the cookie that when Santa bent over to pick up Angela's note, the unexpected happened.

RRRRRRRIP!

Angela was confused by her dream. Because it didn't SOUND like a dream. In fact, it sounded real.

And then Angela realized that her eyes had been partly opened the whole time. It wasn't a dream at all.

Poor Santa. The cookies swelled Santa with so much love that his pants - well . . . they didn't fit anymore!

Angela giggled to see Santa's red-and-white, polka-dotted boxer shorts peeking from a rip in the seat of his pants.

Santa spun around at the sound of Angela's laughter.

"Um, hello, Angela," Santa said with an embarrassed smile. "How are you tonight?"

"I'm fine Santa," she said. "Did you like the cookie?"

The old man chuckled, "Yes, it was good. Too good! There's more love in those cookies than these old slacks could hold."

"It was my mama's recipe," Angela said.

"Ah yes," Santa said. "Your mother's been worried about you."

"She has?" Angela asked, her eyes opened wide. "How do you know?"

Santa laughed. "You know that old song 'he sees you when you're sleeping. He knows when you're awake. . . .?' Well things are so busy at the North Pole these days I can't watch every child like I used to. So I get a little help from angels. Your mother watches over you. She tells me what a good girl you are."

As he talked, Santa tried to hide the rip with his hands.

"What are you going to do about that hole?" Angela asked.

Santa didn't know. He still had a long way to travel. And it was cold out there. Besides, this was his biggest night of the year. He couldn't show up in houses around the world with a big hole in his pants.

"Let me fix them for you," Angela said. "My mama was a seamstress and she taught me a few things. I'll stitch them right up."

Santa glanced at a big, gold pocketwatch. "But there's so little time. My reindeer will be tired out trying to keep ahead of the dawn."

"I have an idea!" Angela said, remembering to keep her voice down. She tiptoed into her father's bedroom and sneaked back out with his best pair of baggy blue jeans, the ones he wore when he played.

"Quick, go change in the bathroom," she told Saint Nick.

Now, they weren't a perfect fit. Daddy was a big, tall man and Santa was short and pudgy. Luckily, they fit in the waist, with room for more cookies in the rear. Santa had to roll up the legs nearly a foot, though.

But man, Santa sure looked cool. Bluejeans look good with a bright red coat.

Angela started mending the red pants with needle and thread from her mother's sewing box. Her little fingers worked the cloth fast as she could.

But there wasn't enough time.

"Santa," Angela said, "let me keep them here and fix them. Next year you can come back for them."

Santa thought for a second. "OK, but you must promise not to tell anyone where you got them."

"I promise," she said. And before she could say the whole word, Santa and his bags vanished.

But the Christmas tree magically remained. So did the hot fire. And all night long, Angela carefully sewed Santa's pants.

They were much different from the pants Santa wears in the malls or on television. It was more like patchwork. Each red square had tiny little pictures that seemed to come alive in the magic firelight.

Her eyelids were getting heavy again. The room was so cozy and Christmas smells filled her head with dreams. She was almost finished sewing when . . .

---

"Who turned up the heat in here!" grumbled her father when he came from the bedroom. Angela sleepily lifted her head.

"I thought I told you not to touch the heater," he said. "Every cent counts." Looking at the thermostat, he found that it hadn't been touched at all.

"Humm, it must have warmed up outside." He opened the front door, but icy air chilled him to the bone. "That's strange. I wonder why it's so warm in here."

Angela turned her sleep-fogged eyes to the fireplace. There was no trace of a fire. Gone too was the Christmas tree. And there wasn't even a whiff of roast turkey.

The note by the fireplace hadn't been touched.

Could she have imagined it?

Suddenly Daddy turned to her. "What have you done?" he said, nearly shouting.

Angela tiredly looked down in her lap. There they were: Santa's Pants!

"It's nothing," she whimpered. Oh no! Only a few hours had passed and already Daddy was on to the secret.

"It doesn't look like nothing to me," Daddy said. He snatched the pants from her lap. He dangled them in the air and looked them up and down.

His mouth opened. But he couldn't speak.

His wrinkled forehead smoothed out like a bar of chocolate melting in the sun.

His eyes watered like an overflowing wishing well.

"You made these for me?" he asked. Angela didn't want to lie to her father. But neither did she want to break her promise to Santa and tell what had happened. So Angela tried to duck the question.

"I was up all night sewing," she said, which was true.

Daddy looked back at the pants. Then without a word, he walked into his bedroom.

Angela laughed when he came out wearing Santa's pants. They were way too short. The bottoms came nearly up to the knee. Angela laughed so hard that even Daddy started to smile a little.

She laughed even harder when he did a funny little dance.

"These sure are some funky pants," he said, his smile now glowing like the first light of morning.

"You don't have to wear them if you don't want to," said Angela, hoping maybe he'd put them in the closet and just forget about them for a year. Besides, they weren't exactly his style.

"Oh, I'll wear them for now," Daddy said. "How about some breakfast?"

Daddy wore the funky pants all day long. Angela even caught him laughing at himself in the mirror a few times.

The next day, he played his music on a Beale Street corner for tips. To Angela's surprise, he wore the pants!

Daddy looked funny with his socks pulled up over his calves. People started to gather around him. First, people stopped to see the pants. But then, they heard how well Daddy played and hung around.

Daddy played that saxophone like nobody's business.

Someone in the crowd asked him "Where'd you get those funky pants, man?"

Daddy pointed to Angela and said proudly, "My daughter made them for me all by herself." Angela blushed.

It was the happiest she'd seen her Daddy in months. Angela wondered what had happened.

It must be the pants, she decided.

Those are magic pants.

"Good news, baby," Daddy said when they got home. "A man asked me to play at his restaurant. That could mean a steady job for me and a late Christmas present for you."

That night, Daddy tucked Angela into her spot on the couch. Just before going to bed, Daddy said: "It's a little cold in here. I think we can turn up the heat some."

Daddy soon had a steady job. And guess what? He still wore the pants.

When springtime came, Daddy got an even better gig at a downtown club. Daddy wore the pants there, too.

He seemed to play better and better. To Angela, he got nicer and nicer.

By fall, Daddy's name was on a big board in front of the club. People came from all over to see the great sax player wearing those funky red pants.

Daddy could afford to buy Angela toys, new clothes and better food.

But Angela was worried.

Christmas was on its way. Santa would soon show up and want his magic pants back.

Then what would happen?

Would Daddy lose everything? Would they go back to cold nights? Even worse, would he stop loving her again?

On Christmas Eve, Daddy stepped out of the club and smelled the air. Guess what he smelled?

Baking cookies!

Yes, Angela was at it again. Daddy found his beautiful daughter standing at the stove. He sent the babysitter on her way and sat down hungrily at the kitchen table. Mmmm, those cookies smelled good.

Daddy looked at his daughter. A full year older! She didn't even need the step-stool anymore.

"They are a very special recipe," Angela said. "Mom's recipe. They have a lot of love in them."

Her father laughed. "I bet they do."

Angela didn't turn around from the stove because she was on the verge of tears. She had kept Santa's secret all year, but now it was on the tip of her tongue. She didn't want the happiness to go away.

"Daddy, look at those ol' pants you're wearing," she said.

"You mean my favorite pants? The ones you made me last Christmas?"

"Yeah, those ol' things," she said. "Daddy, what if something were to happen to them?"

Daddy waved his hand, "Oh, you don't have to worry about that. I take good care of them."

"Yes but . . ." Angela couldn't even turn around for the next part. "Do you think . . . you could still . . . play the saxophone without them?"

A big laugh rolled out of Daddy's stomach. "Of course I could. The pants don't play the saxophone for me."

"Do you think people would still come to hear you play?" Angela asked.

Daddy laughed again, even louder. "People like me because I'm good, not because I wear red pants!"

Angela's voice was soft as a mouse now.

"Daddy, would you still love me if you didn't have them?"

This time Daddy didn't laugh. She stared down at her cookie sheet with nothing but silence behind her.

Suddenly, she felt herself lifted into the air. Daddy carried her around the kitchen like a flying sleigh. When he stopped, he held her close.

"Baby girl. I know what you're thinking," he said.

Angela's eyes widened. "You do?"

"Honey, last year was hard for both of us. After your mom died I was mad at the world. But that didn't mean I didn't love you."

She nuzzled her face into his shoulder.

"What would I do without you?" he continued. "You made me happy, Angela. When I woke up Christmas morning and saw your present, my heart woke up from a long sleep. The quilt your mother made you when were a baby - the one that kept you warm at night - you turned it into a pair of pants for me. Those funky pants! At that very moment I realized that you are the most special thing I have, and the only thing I need."

Angela's head was swimming. Come to think of it, she hadn't seen that old quilt since . . . last Christmas Eve.

Daddy reached down and picked up a cookie. He took a bite and smiled.

"It's not the pants, honey. It's that they were from you. If you're worried, we can put them away for a little while."

Then something unexpected happened. Daddy bent over to put Angela down and both of them froze when they heard the noise.

RIPPPP!

"Uh oh," Daddy said. "Suddenly these pants feel a little tight."

With one hand over the rip, he skipped into his bedroom.

Angela couldn't laugh, because she was still confused. For the first time, when she looked at the pants, they resembled Mama's quilt.

Had her worrying been for nothing? Did Santa really come? Had everything been a dream?

Angela and Daddy ate cookies until they were full (it only took a few). They told each other stories by a real fire. Before going into his room, Daddy folded the red pants and put them next to the Christmas tree as a reminder. Angela slipped easily into sleep.

Some people say that dreams are magic and that Christmas dreams are the most magic of them all. They are dreams of giving, of love, of holiday smells and . . .

---

"Wake up, Angela," said a familiar voice. Her eyes popped open and there was that plump little man she hadn't seen in a year. The bearded face smiled, "Merry Christmas!"

"I thought you were just a dream," she said. Santa pinched her arm and she squealed. "I guess you are real!"

There was something different about Santa, though. He was still wearing Daddy's jeans. When Santa saw Angela's surprise, he blushed.

"I couldn't bring myself to take them off," Santa said. "Where did you ever find magic jeans?"

Angela's eyes opened, "Magic jeans?"

"Oh yes, these jeans are definitely magic," Santa said. "Ever since I put them on I've felt so . . . what is the word?"

Angela answered: "Cool?"

"Yes. Yes! I wore them in the annual North Pole talent show and didn't have any stage fright at all. I wore them when I refereed the reindeer games and everyone said I looked 300 years younger," Santa said. "I wish I didn't have to give them back."

Angela nearly jumped up. "You DON'T!"

She explained how the pants seemed to be magic. She told Santa about the quilt - how it just vanished. And finally, she told him about the new rip.

Santa ran his fingers through his beard. "Your dad and I fell for the oldest magic there is: Christmas magic. It wasn't my pants or his jeans. It was just the happiness you feel when you know somebody loves you."

And with that, Santa let out a "Ho, ho, ho" that made Angela giggle too.

After leaving presents under the tree, Santa said goodbye.

"Before you go, would you like a cookie?" Angela asked.

"Well, maybe one . . . and this time I'll be saving it for later!"

---

Daddy was sitting beside her when she woke up. His eyes were wide with wonder.

"Merry Christmas!" she said.

"Merry Christmas," Daddy replied. "But, Angela, how did you - "

When she looked down, she was covered up in the red quilt her mother made. It looked good as new.

The red pants were still right there, under the tree.

- Christopher Blank: 529-2305