"And cranberry sauce and nuts," put in Tim.
"And celery and sweet potatoes," added Carl. "A real dinner, Mother."
"Would you rather do that than have the tree?"
Silence greeted the question.
Into every mind flashed the picture of a tree towering to the ceiling and a-glitter with lights and ornaments. Even Carl, despite his fourteen years, could not entirely banish the vision. But the dinner, the dinner! After all the tree would only be a thing to look at; food could be eaten and enjoyed, and Carl was a healthy boy at an age when he was possessed of a particularly healthy appetite. Tempting as was the tree the aroma of browned turkey rose in his nostrils.
"I vote for turkey," announced he at last.
"No tree? No Christmas tree?" murmured Martin, his lip quivering.
"You have a tree at kindergarten, silly, and so does Nell," declared the elder brother quickly.
"'Tain't like having it here—our really own tree," bewailed Martin.
"Couldn't we have a simpler dinner, Mother, and manage to get a tree?" interrogated Mary. "It is fun to trim it and the little children love it so."