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"It ain't every man which knows the kind of a tree to chop. Not all trees is Christmas-trees. But ole Jim is a clever ole duck, you bet." "Wal," drawled Jim, "I never suspect my own intelligence till a man begins to tell me I'm a clever old duck. Still, I reckon I ain't over-likely to cut no cherry-trees over to the Pinyon hills."
The book was on the plan of an encyclopedia, and she, having turned to the "ch's," found: "Christmas-trees very delicate when transplanted, especially sensitive, and liable to blast at any change in the moral atmosphere. Remedy: discover and confess the cause."
"Oh dear no," was Susan's answer; "we always wear clean ones of our every-day frocks. Our white ones are only for dinner-parties and Christmas-trees." Bessie grumbled. "How cross! I hate those nasty old spotty cottons;" and Johnnie returned to the old story "Little vain pussy- cat." Up went Miss Fosbrook's warning pencil, she shook her head, and held out her hand for two fines.
"They go out in the woods and cut cart-loads of holly and mistletoe and pine and Christmas-trees, and dress the house, and the fires roar up all the chimneys, and they kill the pigs " Channing sat upright and rubbed his eyes. "They don't kill the pigs at Christmas. She said they kill them when the persimmons get ripe." "Well, they're killed and you eat them Christmas.
Christmas-trees splendid firs of stately height and size, which two days before were the ornaments of the forest-glittered in the light of the candles, which was reflected from the ruddy cheeks of the apples and the gilded and silvered nuts. Meanwhile the air, "O night so calm, so holy!" floated from the instruments of the musicians.
This morning when I kissed Papa good-bye at the gate he said he was going to buy one for me, and mamma, who was busy in the house, did not hear him say so; and I am sure she must have bought the other. But what shall we do with two Christmas-trees?" Pussy jumped into his lap and purred and purred. A plan suddenly flashed into Johnny's mind. "Would you like to have one, Pussy?"
The winter was gay, between musical evenings, children's parties, clerical feastings of district visitors, soirees for Sunday-school teachers, and Christmas-trees for their scholars.
All the good humor and excitement of the morning was restored, and the innate childishness of the soldier began to assert itself. "Here, Jake, hang this fellow up on that tree so he can salute his majesty in true turkey fashion," shouted one man, and Jake, game as usual, tossed a big gobbler up in one of the mock Christmas-trees.
With a counterfeit assumption of juvenile hilarity he exclaimed: "Oh, look at the pretty pies! They got little Christmas-trees on their lids, 'ain't they? Um-yum! Rich and juicy! I stuck up the baker and stole his whole stock, but I slipped and spilled 'em F. O. B. flat on the boardwalk." Rouletta laughed. "Let's end the game and all have lunch," she suggested, and her invitation was accepted.
But now they were all yellow and dead, and not so much as one pop-corn whitened the upper branches, neither was there one candle shining out in the night. For the trees in their prime had borne also little twinkling lights like wax candles. Dame Louisa looked out at her dead Christmas-trees, and scowled.
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