  It was nearly Christmas. Peter could hardly wait for the day to come. He kept saying, "Mother, will it be Christmas to-morrow? Mother, will it be Christmas to-morrow?" At last father said, "Do you want Christmas before I get the tree?" "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 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 "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." |
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