The day before Christmas broke cold and clear; and almost before the sun had crested the hill three fur-clad figures were abroad. Two were large and one was small; each carried a post across his shoulders, while the foremost swung an ax in his free hand. They first took the trail for the trapper’s, and a dozen yards from the hut they planted one post, knocking it firmly into the snow with the flat of the ax. There it stood straight as could be and about the height of a little lad, with its white sign pointing up the trail they had come and its bands of Christmas green and red—painted by Mr. Peter at the top—warranted to attract attention.
David cast a backward glance of admiration upon it as they turned to cross-cut the ravine and climb the foot-hill that led to the South-Americans’ cottage. Yes, it certainly did look fine! And how well the black letters stood out against the white background! With a heart almost bursting with the fullness of contentment David read the sign for the hundredth time:
THIS WAY TO CHRISTMAS
Six o’Clock To-night. Please Come.
David
And the hand pointed straight to the hilltop and the lodge. Another sign was planted by the cottage, and a third by the lumber-camp. Then the trio climbed the hill again. At the lodge Barney picked up a fourth post. He was going down to the village for some necessary supplies and he had been appointed to leave the sign for the flagman.
“There’s just one thing that’s the matter,” said David, as he and Mr. Peter started out with knives and bags to hunt for ground-pine and other Christmas greens. “It’s the South-Americans. I don’t see how they could possibly get here. Why, the sick boy has hardly enough strength to walk across the room. And you couldn’t expect a lady to climb a mountain on snow-shoes, just for Christmas.”
Mr. Peter laughed.
“You can never tell what’s going to happen Christmas Eve. Maybe the fairy will loan them his wishing-cap. Or Santa, himself, may swing round here on his way to the city and bring them along. I wouldn’t begin to worry about who’s not coming until it’s too late for them to get here.”
All through that crisp winter morning David and Mr. Peter plowed back and forth between the woods and the lodge, carrying green of every description, with intervals spent beside the kitchen stove, warming up. And early in the afternoon they started decorating the hall and living-room, while Johanna and Barney concentrated their efforts in the kitchen. Barney had succeeded in rooting out untold treasures from the shelves of the “variety store” in the village; and he had brought home several cans of silver paint and rolls of red tissue-paper, besides some white and red candles.