He was eager. “No, I don’t.”
She held out her hand to him. “Will you come and see our tree?”
“To-night?”
“No, to-morrow morning—early.”
“Before breakfast?”
She nodded.
“Gee, I’d like it.”
So that was a bargain, with a quick squeeze of their hands on it. And the Small Girl’s mother went back to the kitchen, and the Next-Door-Neighbor came down with the receipt, and the Small Girl’s mother went out of the back door and found that the orange band which had burned on the horizon was gone, and that there was just the wind and the sighing of the trees.
Two men passed her on the brick walk which led to the house, and one of the men was saying:
“If you’d only be fair to me, Father.”