"That is just the trouble," agreed his mother. "Engrossed in their own little squabbles, they lose sight of the splendid big thing they were put here to do. In other words they forget their job, which is to make the world and themselves better."
Slowly she glanced from one earnest face into another.
"Well, I've read you quite a sermon, haven't I?" smiled she. "And it was all because of the Tartary lamb. Now suppose we talk of something else—Christmas. It will be here now before we know it. What shall we do this year? Shall it be a tree? Or shall we hang our stockings, go without a tree, and put the money into a Christmas dinner?"
Inquiringly she studied her children's faces.
"I suppose a tree does cost quite a lot before you are through with it," reflected the prudent Mary.
"And we have the municipal tree in the park, anyway," Carl put in in an attempt to be optimistic.
"But that tree isn't ours, our very own tree," Tim began to wail.
"It is lots bigger than any tree we could have, Timmie," asserted his older brother. "And think of the lights! They are all electric. We couldn't have lights like those here at home."
"I know," grieved Tim. "But it isn't our tree—just ours—in our house."
"A Christmas tree costs ever so much money, Timmie," Mary explained gently. "Mother can't buy us a tree always and a dinner, too."