“There, old fellow,” she said as she tied a huge bow on Buddy’s collar, “you are going to have a Christmas present.” As she spoke she clapped her hands and ran for Bobby. “O, Bob, hurry up and finish your butternuts. I think we can have a Christmas after all. Hurry! Hurry!” Betty ran to find Uncle Ben and whisper something in his ear. She began to do the queerest things. Up to the attic she ran and down again, her arms full of big boxes and little ones; then down to the cellar, and up with an armful of carrots and apples; then out to the barn, and back with a box of corn and oats.
By that time Bobby had cracked all the butternuts for dinner and stood with his hands in his pockets, watching his sister. “What in the world are you doing?” he said with a grin.
Betty grinned at him. “You take the axe and go over to the upland pasture and cut down a little Christmas tree; Uncle Ben said we could.”
“But we haven’t a thing to put on the tree.”
“We shall have something when you get back. Uncle Ben will take Mollie and meet you and haul the tree home.”
Bob went off, wondering, and Betty began to snip up pieces of an old gray flannel shirt of Uncle Ben’s and to rummage in the button box for old shoe buttons.
When Bob drove in with Uncle Ben and the little tree, Betty dangled in front of him seven gray mice by their tails of string. With shoe buttons for eyes and bodies made of gray flannel they looked so real that Uncle Ben jumped when he saw them.
“My land, child, those mice would fool any cat in the county!”
“Smell,” answered Betty, and she dangled her treasures under her uncle’s nose.
“Catnip mice,” he chuckled.