"I will to-day. You and Polly may go with me. We will choose the prettiest fir tree we can find. Put on your things, and we will start now."
"Oh, goody, goody!" cried Peter, jumping up and down. "Now I know that Christmas is almost here."
"It will be here to-morrow," said father. "Run and tell Polly."
They went through the field back of the house. They climbed over the stone-wall post office. Polly looked into some of the boxes for mail.
She said, "Father, one day Peter told me that he had a pony in his post-office box."
"It must have been a very large box, Polly. We do not have such large ones at the store. Which is it?"
"I don't care if I didn't have it in my box," said Peter. "I think I shall get it on the tree. It will be up in the tiptop."
"Then we must find a strong tree, my boy. Can you see one you like?"
"That one," said Peter.
Father laughed. "That is a strong tree. But it is too tall. We should have to cut a hole in the ceiling to stand it up. Find a smaller one."