Soon father had cut down the fir. He put it over his shoulder. The end dragged on the snow.
"Now we are ready for home," he said. "To-night mother and I will dress this tree. To-morrow you may see it."
"Have you really a dress for it?" asked Peter. "I hope it is red. Who made it?"
"O Peter, how silly you are! Father means dress it up with candy bags and popped corn and presents."
"I know now," said Peter. "Ponies and guns and things."
"See the snow sparkle, children. The sun makes it do that. Look at the blue sky. Doesn't the air feel good to you?"
"It makes me feel like running," said Polly.
"Then run along, chicks. You will get home first. Tell mother that the Christmas tree is really coming. You may pop the corn this afternoon."
