Jim Mills looked mournfully at the potato-sack. "I've got to be goin'," said he. "Mother wants these for dinner."
John Henry jumped down from the fence and gave the sack a manful tug from the ground. "I'll carry it as far as my house," said he.
"You can't."
"Can, too."
The two boys moved on across the old plough ridges of the field, John Henry a little in the rear, swung sideways by the potato-bag like a ship by its anchor.
"Going to the tree Tuesday night?" he panted, presently.
"Ketch me!" responded Jim Mills, surlily.
"Why ain't you going?"
"What would I be going for, I'd like to know?"
"There's going to be a Christmas tree, an' you'll have something."