“The other’s for her,” he said “and it’s all white ones.”
“Why, Lanson Bundle!” exclaimed Wilda.
But he had yet another paper, and it disclosed the yellow coats of tropical fruit.
“What’s them?” breathed Wilda, bending over in admiration. “Why, Lanson Bundle! If them ain’t lemons and oranges! Where in this world did you get them?”
“I sent clean to Fredericktown for them,” confessed the suitor with an apologetic grin. “I thought her being bedfast so steady all the time, she’d like something out of the common.”
“You are real clever,” spoke Wilda with trembling voice. “She’ll be so tickled! I been making her two fine caps with hem-stitching around the border;—but this does beat all!”
“I done something else,” Alanson ventured on, “that you’ll think is simple;—I’ve never seen such a thing, but I’ve read about it. Coming along through the pines I took my jack-knife out and cut a little one off close to the ground; and it’s laying outside the door.”
“What for, Lanson?”
“A Christmas-tree.”
“What’s that?”