"Next day in the best lace curtains," added Tavia. "That's about how much spruce smells like real smoke."
"Try the Duncan place," interposed Nat. "Used to be plenty of pretty trees about there."
Following this suggestion the Fire Bird was directed toward the Glen, where, set in a deep clump of trees, could be seen one of the very old residences of the township.
"Is it inhabited?" asked Tavia as they swung into the rough drive.
"Oh, yes," replied Nat. "Old Cummings and his wife live there. It's a fine old place, too. Pity all the old places are allowed to go to rack and ruin."
"No Christmas trees around here," declared Ned, wheeling about along the turn in the drive. "Queer, I would have bet I saw spruce in this grove."
"I'll tell you," exclaimed Nat. "Tanglewood Park. That's the very place for a choice selection of real old cheroot spruces."
"Yes," groaned Ned, "five miles away."
"I don't think it's very cold," ventured Dorothy.
"But the air is full of snow," announced Ned.