“You don’t mind playing it, do you?” he asked.
“Mind! Why, I guess it will do us all a world of good, old as we are,” she said.
Of course after that, there was nothing for him to do but to write down, in a shaky hand, his commands.
“Cut down the highest tree in the forest,” he wrote first. “It must be so high and so strong that it takes three men to chop it down. Then carry it into the banquet-hall and set it up.” Here he stopped. “Do you suppose we can have the hat-tree, Mrs. Darling?” he asked.
“You can have anything you want,” she said firmly.
“Order the Great-High-Tree-Trimmer, Sir Patrick, to enter, and to hang the gold and silver bells on the tree, and to light the candles— We can pretend the hat-tree has candles on it, can’t we?” he paused to ask.
“Of course we can,” she assured him.
“Then light the— What was it they burned at Christmas, Mrs. Darling?”
“The Yule log.”
“Yes. Light the Yule log, and pile up the presents under the tree—all kinds—whatever any one has ever wished for in the world. Then hang the stockings on the mantel, and let the Great-High-Filler, Lady Nora, fill them with toys and books and—and—electric engines. Then let the doors be flung open and the guests enter. There!” he said, with a little sigh, “that’s all.”