“We can’t,” objected Helen. “To-morrow’s Sunday.”
“Easter Sunday,” added Madeline. “Do you suppose anybody will wear Easter hats to church?”
“I don’t see how they know when to get new clothes down here,” said Mary. “There isn’t any winter, and so of course there isn’t any spring. I suppose they just have to wait until things wear out, and then get some more.”
“Quite a sensible way of doing, I should say,” laughed Mr. Wales.
“I wish to-morrow were Christmas, instead of Easter,” remarked Roberta irrelevantly.
“Why do you wish that, my dear?” asked Mrs. Wales, who was always interested in Roberta’s odd fancies.
“Because,” said Roberta, “if to-morrow were Christmas, we could have a Christmas tree, and an orange tree would make such a fascinating one, with all the oranges for decorations.”
“But you couldn’t cut one down and take it to the hotel, Roberta,” objected Helen, the matter-of-fact.
“No,” said Roberta, “but we wouldn’t have to. There is a dear little orange tree with ten oranges on it in the yard behind the annex. I can see it from my window. The oranges look rather green, but still it would do beautifully.”
“Why not have an Easter tree?” asked Madeline. “It’s really just about as sensible as having one at Christmas.”