But what were they going to do about Christmas, their friends asked.
Mr. Bear looked up in the air and rubbed his head and finally said something about wreaths in the windows, and Mr. Dog answered briskly that he was going to make the finest plum pudding that day for dinner they ever saw and if that wasn’t celebrating Christmas, what was?
Still, it did seem as if the time would never arrive, for you know yourself how slow Christmas and birthdays and vacations are about getting around; and how very quickly school-days and trips to the dentist, and such things come. But at last it really was December twenty-fourth, and that very evening after sunset had been planned both by Mr. Dog and Mr. Bear for their grand surprise.
Mr. Dog had all his presents on the top shelf of his bedroom closet, and Mr. Bear had all his presents on the top shelf of his bedroom closet: and both of them had their closets locked and the keys in their pockets.
Neither of the friends talked much at supper that night for both were too busy thinking. Mr. Bear wanted to get some good excuse for leaving Mr. Dog and getting into the forest where the Christmas tree was to be found. It was already cut, but it wanted trimming, and Mr. Bear decided to trim it right where it stood, or rather where it leaned against another fir-tree, and then manage some way to get it into the house without Mr. Dog’s knowing it. Mr. Bear’s pockets were full of tinsel and bells, gilt walnuts, golden and silver balls, and such like ornaments. He fairly tinkled when he walked; but Mr. Dog was so very busy thinking that he didn’t notice.
At last supper was over and the dishes neatly washed and put away. The two friends turned to each other, and both spoke at once and said just the same thing all in a breath without pausing:
“I was thinking of taking a little stroll this evening.”
“Why, that’s a good idea,” said Mr. Bear, putting on his cap and goloshes as he spoke. It was handy for him not having to bother with anything more on account of his fine fur coat, though he would rather have liked a muffler.
“I think so, too,” said Mr. Dog, hurriedly getting into his coasting togs—sweater, tasseled cap, and all.
“Which way were you going, Mr. Bear? I was thinking of going west—”