“That Unc’ Aaron he is show me where is best,” announced Pablo. “I go make you see where is.”
“Where is Unc’ Aaron?” inquired Joanne.
“He come bimeby. At the present moment he have a work to do.”
Piloted by Pablo the girls went on to discover the pretty running wreaths of green, and to find several bushes of holly red with berries. The prickly leaves made the gathering of this last rather a trying job, but the girls had carried knives and wore thick gloves, so they managed very well.
It was not long before they heard a distant singing, a wild weird strain, and through the trees they saw the approaching figure of Unc’ Aaron. At sight of the girls he stopped his camp-meeting tune and came up bowing and scraping. “Good-mawnin’, ladies,” he said. “Dis are an onexpected gratication, mos’ lak a fessible, seein’ yuh-alls in de midst of wintah. Mistah Clovah done tell me las’ night he lookin’ fo’ yuh-alls ter come up fur to git crowfoot and all dat greeny stuff.”
“Do you call this crowfoot?” inquired Joanne touching the pile at her feet.
“Das de entitlements it have about hyah,” replied Unc’ Aaron. “Is yuh-alls lak dis hyar missytoe?”
“Mistletoe? Oh, we love it, but we haven’t seen any.”
“Den yuh-alls hasn’t sought in de right place. I knows whar it is. Yuh come along wid me, little lady, an’ I shows yuh.”
Joanne followed the old man through clumps of underbrush which he held aside that she might pass through, and in the depths of the woods he paused and pointed upward. There, clinging to a tall tree, was the bunch of mistletoe. Joanne looked up with clasped hands and eyes full of wondering delight. “It really is,” she said softly. “I never saw it growing before. Oh, Unc’ Aaron, they all must see it before we take it down.”