"No," said Peter. "But will you ever get it?"
"I will to-day. You and Polly may go with me. We will choose the
prettiest fir tree we can find. Put on your things, and we will start
now."
"Oh, goody, goody!" cried Peter, jumping up and down. "Now I know that
Christmas is almost here."
"It will be here to-morrow," said father. "Run and tell Polly."
They went through the field back of the house. They climbed over the
stone-wall post office. Polly looked into some of the boxes for mail.
She said, "Father, one day Peter told me that he had a pony in his
post-office box."
"It must have been a very large box, Polly. We do not have such large
ones at the store. Which is it?"
"I don't care if I didn't have it in my box," said Peter. "I think I
shall get it on the tree. It will be up in the tiptop."
"Then we must find a strong tree, my boy. Can you see one you like?"
"That one," said Peter.
Father laughed. "That is a strong tree. But it is too tall. We should
have to cut a hole in the ceiling to stand it up. Find a smaller one."
"There is a good tree, father. See how pretty it is. It looks like our
little firs at home."
"I believe that is just right for us, Polly. I will cut it down. Please
hold my coat."
Father swung his ax. He gave three sharp blows. All at once there was a
chatter overhead.
In the next tree a gray squirrel was running up a large branch. He was
scolding with all his might. His tail was jerking. He looked very cross.
"Well, old fellow," said father, "did I disturb you? I am sorry. Go back
to sleep. We will not take your tree."
"His is too bare, isn't it, father? The leaves have all gone. We must
have a fir tree for ours. It has queer leaves. But they do not fall off
in the winter."
"That is why we call such trees evergreens, Polly. They are always
green. Pine trees are evergreens, too. Their needles are longer than fir
needles."
"I think that is one of our squirrels," said Peter. "He took our nuts,
Polly. I wonder where he put them."
"He thought they were his," said Polly. "He needed them."
Soon father had cut down the fir. He put it over his shoulder. The end
dragged on the snow.
"Now we are ready for home," he said. "To-night mother and I will dress
this tree. To-morrow you may see it."
"Have you really a dress for it?" asked Peter. "I hope it is red. Who
made it?"
"O Peter, how silly you are! Father means dress it up with candy bags
and popped corn and presents."
"I know now," said Peter. "Ponies and guns and things."
"See the snow sparkle, children. The sun makes it do that. Look at the
blue sky. Doesn't the air feel good to you?"
"It makes me feel like running," said Polly.
"Then run along, chicks. You will get home first. Tell mother that the
Christmas tree is really coming. You may pop the corn this afternoon."