III.
Pretty soon, Lucy, who had listened to as much of this talk as she could, heard the whole party go out of the back door and start off somewhere. She was in a great state of mind about it. Not for anything in the world would she waken Scrubby; but oh! how she longed to tumble down-stairs and rush off after the rest!
What a party it was that did go out of that back door! And in what style they went! Ned, the canary, was the only one left behind; and those who couldn't walk, rode. For they had hitched the horse to Scrubby's little battered sled, and made a grand sleighing party of it.
Jumping Jack drove, of course. The French lady had the seat of honor on the sled, and much trouble she had to keep it, for there was nothing to hold on by, and her head was so loose that it nearly threw her over.
Lyd had wrapped a dish-towel about her, and felt very comfortable and well-dressed; while Peg had come just as she was, and they both rolled about on the sled in a very dangerous fashion.
The late chicken held on with his claws to the curl of the runner, and flapped his wings and squawked every time the sled plunged a little in the snow. Minx rode horseback as before, while Spot went afoot, jumping and barking, and snapping up a mouthful of snow every few minutes.
But not one of them knew where they were going, or what they were going to do. They meant to get Scrubby a tree somehow, and that was all they knew about it.
At last, Peg said (Peg was a very sensible baby, if she was raveled out):
"What are we going to do, anyhow?"
"Why, we're going to get a tree for Scrubby," they all answered.
"Well, what kind of a tree?—and where?"
That was a poser. None of them had thought so far as that. At last, Minx said:
"Why, any kind—somewhere."
"There are plenty of trees in France," said Française.
"Then that's the place for us to go," said Jumping Jack; and at once they raced off to the end of the garden, on their way to France.
"This aint the way, after all," Minx said, when they got to the fence. "The world comes to an end just over there. I got up on the fence one day, and there was nothing beyond but a great, deep hole."
"There's no use going off this other way," Spot put in, "for there's nothing over there but a big lot of water with a mill standing by it. I was over there one day."
"Then that is our way," said the French lady, decisively. "That is the ocean. I know they brought me across the ocean, and I was awfully sick all the way."
That last rather discouraged them, for nobody wanted to get awfully sick if there was any other way to find Scrubby's tree; so they concluded not to go to France.
"Well, let's go somewhere, for I'm getting cold," peeped the chicken; and then there was a great discussion. At last, Spot said:
"We are a stupid lot! There's that sparrow comes about the door every day—he could tell us all about trees in a minute if we could find him."
Minx knew where the sparrow kept himself, for she always watched him with an eye to business.
"But," she said, "some of the rest of you will have to talk to him, for he'll never let me come near him."
So then the chicken called to the sparrow, and the sparrow answered. The matter was explained to him, and the bird fluttered down among them as much excited as anybody.
"It's for little Scrubby, eh?" he said. "What in the world does she want a tree for? I know. It's because she is half bird herself—bless her heart!—and she likes trees just like any other bird. And don't she come to the door every morning and give me crumbs and talk to me so friendly? Of course, I'll help find a tree for her."
But he had not found one yet, and so the chicken told him.
"I don't know," he said. "Suppose I call Mrs. Squirrel. She can tell." And off he flew, and had the gray squirrel there in a minute, cold as it was.
Then they had to tell the story over again to Mrs. Squirrel and to Mr. Rabbit, who had also hopped along to see what the fuss was all about.
"Scrubby's got to have a tree, and that's all about it," chattered Mrs. Squirrel, as she whisked about in a state of great excitement. "I didn't know old Kriss could be so mean as that. Call him a saint! And all because Scrubby's poor! Humph! Don't seem to me she is so very poor. Didn't I give her those eyes she has? And didn't the robin give her his own throat? And hasn't she a sunbeam inside, that shines all through? And didn't Miss June roll up all the flowers she had, and a dozen birds beside, and wrap the whole bundle up in Scrubby's brown skin? I don't call that being so very poor, do you? Anyhow, she is not so poor but that she could make me feel jolly every time she came out-doors last summer to run after me and chatter to me."
The rabbit had been standing all this time with one cold foot wrapped up in his ear. He unfolded his ear now, and wiped his eyes with it.
"She almost cried," he said. "Just think of one of my little bunnies wanting anything she couldn't get, and crying about it! It just breaks my heart."
"Tree!" chirped the chicken.
"Yes," said Mrs. Squirrel, "why don't you go and get a tree for Scrubby? What do you all stand here for, chattering and doing nothing? I'd give her mine, only that great beech couldn't be got into the house."
"We wanted your advice," the sparrow suggested.
"Advice! You don't need any advice. Why don't you give her your own tree? That little Norway spruce is just the thing. Come along, and don't be so selfish!"
"I'm not selfish; but really Norway is not fit, and, besides, I don't believe he'll go."
"Nonsense! He's a beautiful tree, only there isn't much green on him; and of course he'll go, for we'll make him go," answered the very decided Mrs. Squirrel.
So they all whisked away to the sparrow's roosting-place. Norway was not in good health, that was evident. He was very thin, and his temper was in bad condition too; for when the sparrow asked him if he would please step out and come with them, he answered:
"Not much I wont! It's bad enough standing here in the ground, poorly as I am, without coming out there in the snow; and I'll not do it for anybody."
"Oh dear! Scrubby will be so disappointed! What will she do?" they all cried out at once.
"What's that about Scrubby? What has Scrubby got to do with my catching my death-cold, anyhow?" asked Norway.
And then they told him the whole story. He hardly waited for them to get through before he broke out talking very fast.
"Why didn't you say so? How should I know it was for Scrubby? Of course, I'll go! I'd do anything for her. She did enough for me, I should think,"—and, as quickly as he could, he pulled his one foot out of the ground and hopped into the snow beside the horse. Then he went on talking. "You see if it hadn't been for Scrubby I wouldn't be alive at all. She heard somebody say that I needed to have the dirt loosened about my roots, and to have plenty of water. So she dug around me at a great rate, and watered me until I was almost drowned. She cut off a good many of my roots, and once she threw hot water all down this side of me; but she didn't know. I'm not much of a tree, I confess; but Scrubby did what she could, and if she wants me she shall have me."
"Come on, then," said the chicken, "for I'm so cold my bill chatters." And they went.
It was a very funny procession they made going back to the house,—the horse prancing along with the sled, the three dolls taking a sleigh-ride in their queer way, Spot racing about everywhere with Minx on his back, and the tree hopping along after the sled as fast as his one foot could go. The chicken rode back on one of Norway's branches, and fluttered and squawked more than ever.
When they started, they looked about and called for the sparrow, Mrs. Squirrel, and Mr. Rabbit, but they had all disappeared; so the rest went back without them, shouting, laughing and singing.