“Well, I’m glad it’s th’ last time, anyway,—fer your sake, too, Allan. Jack an’ me used t’ worrit ourselves nearly sick when you’d start out alone that way. We never knowed what’d happen.”
“And nothing ever happened, after all!” laughed Allan. “I believe that Dan Nolan has forgotten all about me long before this.”
Mary shook her head doubtfully.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But anyway it won’t matter now, for you’ll allers be with th’ gang after this, an’ Nolan won’t dare show his nose around where they are. Jack’s just achin’ t’ lay hands on him.”
“There,” said Allan, as he drove the last nail, “that’s solid, I think,” and he set the tree up in the corner. “Now, what next?”
“All these things has got t’ have little ribbons tied to ’em,” said Mrs. Welsh, who had been getting out the candy, fruits, and presents. “But I kin do that. You set down an’ read your book.”
“Indeed I won’t!” protested the boy. “I want to feel that I’ve had something to do with this tree,” and he drew a chair up to the table.
“Somethin’ t’ do with it!” retorted Mary. “You’ve had everything t’ do with it, I’m a-thinkin’. It’s your Christmas tree, Allan, an’ mighty nice of you to think of it, my boy.”
“Oh, I wanted Mamie to have one,” he protested; “especially when it was so little trouble to get. Now it’s ready for the pop-corn.”
Mrs. Welsh began to drape the white festoons about the tree. Suddenly she paused and looked up with startled eyes.