“You can’t catch me, running around every one of the cherry trees three times,” declared she, and was off.
Cora ran round the trees, with Tommy following at a fixed distance, according to his code of honor, then stopped, squealing with glee. “Couldn’t! Told you so,” said she. Cora was charming. She conquered her ugly clothes. In a way, Tommy Dunbar conquered his. There was a very noble, manly expression on his young face above the uncouth jacket and muffler.
Cora sniffed. “What are they cooking over at your folks’?” said she.
“They’re doing pig work,” replied Tommy. “That’s lard trying out you smell.”
“Seems to me funny work to be doing the day before Christmas,” said Cora.
Tommy stared.
Cora stared back. “You look as if you’d never heard of Christmas,” said she. “Are you going to have a tree, or hang up your stocking?”
Tommy hesitated; then he said feebly: “I guess I’ll hang up my stocking.”
“That’s what I’m going to do this Christmas.” Cora lowered her voice. “That’s really what Mother went to Boston for,” she whispered. “You see, I know perfectly well that Father and Mother and Aunt Emmy and Grandpa and Cousin Ellen give the things that go in my stocking. But I like to make believe it’s Santa Claus, and it pleases the others, so I do.”
To Tommy the remark was enigmatical, but he made no comment.