At this moment he perceived a curious phenomenon a short distance before him—another Christmas-tree, but one which moved, apparently of its own volition, along the sidewalk. As Mr. Carter overtook it, he saw that it was borne, or dragged, rather by a small boy who wore a bright red flannel cap and mittens of the same peculiar material. As Mr. Carter looked down at him, he looked up at Mr. Carter, and spoke cheerfully:
"Goin' my way, mister?"
"Why," said the philanthropist, somewhat taken back, "I WAS!"
"Mind draggin' this a little way?" asked the boy, confidently, "my hands is cold."
"Won't you enjoy it more if you manage to take it home by yourself?"
"Oh, it ain't for me!" said the boy.
"Your employer," said the philanthropist, severely, "is certainly careless if he allows his trees to be delivered in this fashion."
"I ain't deliverin' it, either," said the boy. "This is Bill's tree."
"Who is Bill?"
"He's a feller with a back that's no good."