--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Ivy Williams Stone collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 34 number: 2 published: 1930-12 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Ivy Williams Stone, “The Blue Spruce,” *Improvement Era* 34, no. 2 (December 1930): 97–102." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3402unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera3402unse start_page: 97 end_page: 102 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1930-12) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3402unse publication_year: 1930 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1930, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # The Blue Spruce The BLUE SPRUCE IVY WILLIAMS STONE Illustrated by Fielding K. Smith 'tie seemed to shrink and wither in his chair, •e he gazed at that canvas." AVID LOCK- WOOD the first had shaggy, beetling eyebrows, from which steel blue eyes glared at his enemies and repulsed would-be-friends. When beaten men stood before the mahogany desk marked "Presi- dent," they expected and received scant mercy from those cold, cal- culating eyes. David Lockwood the second had dreamy, visionary brown eyes that saw beauty in every sunset and converted commonplace mea- dows into pastoral scenes. He paid little attention to matters of money, for there were too many beautiful pictures that needed to be painted. David Lockwood the third had deep blue, mischievous eyes that dared you to kiss the dimples in his neck. Mortgages and interest, canvas and pigments caused him no concern. His greatest anxiety was keeping track of his building 98 The Improvement Era for December, 1930 blocks, and finding hidden sweets in his daddy's pockets. KJN the afternoon of December the twenty-fourth, Da- vid the third searched his home for his beloved blocks. They had been gone for several days. Al- though they were scarred and bat- tered they made wonderful bridges and castles. He searched every- where except in the forbidden "daddy's room," which had the most interesting smells and paints and pictures. There was one pic- ture he liked best. He had helped make it. He had stood ever so still, while daddy sketched and rubbed out and sketched again. David the third, with his smiles' and his laughing eyes, was quite unaware that there existed a David the first whom he had never seen, and who never spoke to his daddy. Everybody in the whole world loved daddy. Why, he could throw you so high in the air and always catch you, and kept such nice things in his pockets. empty living room, watching that no one molested his beautiful blue spruce tree that decorated the front lawn. He had used his favorite word, "NO," on all his visitors. He had thundered it at the Good- fellows, when they came, pleading for assistance. He had flung it brows drew closer and the com- mittee withdrew, knowing that the crisp, December afternoon was warmer than the atmosphere of David Lockwood's home. Left alone, David the first set- tled himself by the window, to watch that the enterprising com- mittee did not return to wire the tree. It was a perfect tree. The thick, flat branches spread out in symmetrical perfection, everyone horizontal from the sturdy, invis- ible trunk. No unsightly, dead limbs; every tiny needle alive with vigor, individual, sharp. Rising in a perfect cone, the tree stood alone in its beauty. The green- blue color was accentuated by the carpet of snow. In fancy, he smelled the pungent odor which the tree always exuded. Oi 'N the same afternoon, David the second was locked in his studio, repainting the lost blocks. Fresh, bright letters and numerals replaced the faded ones. New Mother Goose scenes appeared under his magic touch. As he worked, the dreamy expression of his eyes changed to concern, and a little pucker drew his brows together. Christmas Eve was the very hardest day to endure, know- ing that your wealthy, stubborn, lonely father had never seen his cherub-like grandson. That declin- ing years were being shortened with bitterness, and baby years cheated of a grandfather. Each needed the other, and this grave anxiety caused David the second to become temporarily practical. "If I could just manage to make them meet," he mused, critically studying a blue Jack Horner with a yellow pie, "all would be solved. No stubborn old man, not even the town's *richest banker, could withstand the charms of David Lockwood the third. Think of father, spending another solitary Christmas in his big house!" Wf HILE his unknown grandson hunted for his blocks and his son worked in his studio, David Lockwood the first sat in his huge, David Lockwood the Second emphatically at old Marietta, the housekeeper, when she asked per- mission to put oysters in the turkey dressing. Last of all, he had turned purple around the temples and said it many times to the committee on Outdoor Christmas Decoration, when they asked to illuminate the spruce tree. "It's the most symmetrical speci- men I ever saw. An illuminated star on the top, with colored lights all around, will bring you the first prize, Mr. Lockwood." The chair- man spoke with enthusiasm. "No," thundered David the first. "If your itree is lighted, the carolers will serenade you," offered the second committeeman. "No," the favorite expression lost no force by frequent repetition. "It's the prettiest blue pine I ever saw," timidly the third mem- ber spoke to his sorrow. ' PlNE!" mocked David the first with open scorn. "Much you krjow about trees. There is no blue pine. There are white pines, and yellow pines and red pines. But blue trees are spruces. Picea Parryana is the botanical name. Pine needles come in bunches, while spruce needles grow singly, and they're sharp and prickly. Tell your electricians to decorate trees that are not beautiful in themselves. Tell your carolers to sing where people cling to old customs. I won't have candles in my windows, and I won't have lights on my tree!" The shaggy A lS he watched the slanting sunlight play upon his treasure, the years rolled backward for David the first. They were planting the tree, he and the boy, and the mother, who had given the boy those limpid, impractical eyes. The boy stood by the hole and held the spade while the father set the balled tree straight. Then the boy had proudly held the tip of the tiny tree, to balance it while the father shoveled in the soil. Afterwards, they joined hands and danced around the tree, singing one of her poem songs. She was al- ways writing jingles. When she should have been scrubbing floors or baking pies, she was fashioning some rhyme or setting it to musk. "Grow together, tree and boy, Grow and fill our lives with joy. Boy, grow honest, straight and good; Tree, grow tall with wormless wood!" W: ELL, they had grown all right, the boy taller than the father. But only the tree had fulfilled the song. Could you call a boy honest who wouldn't enter his father's bank and learn the business from the ground up? Was he playing straight when he defied his father and married the only forbidden girl in the whole world? A daughter of his arch competitor! The one man who blocked the path of David Lock- wood's financial supremacy of the town. -That his only son should be a painter — a dauber with tur- pentine and oils! He had hoped the boy would be starved into submission. But the mother who The Improvement Era for December, 1930 99 wrote poetry had provided for art school. Thus the son was not sup- pliant and repentant, because he was not starving! A SHARP ring at the doorbell brought David the first back to reality with a start. Where was Marietta? Sneaking oysters in- to the dressing? He didn't intend to buy any homemade doughtnuts or embroidered laundry bags or wax flowers. He would listen to no sob story of unemployment or sickness or hunger. After a lengthy discussion at the door, Marietta appeared, struggling under the weight of a large, flat package. "F-r-a-g-i-1-e," she puffed. "Ain't nobody lives here by that name, but they says this was the place. Took two boys to bring it." She examined it carefully, exercising the liberty of an old servant. 'Tain't no parcel post, nor C. O. D. It's got them 'do not open till Christmas' plasters all over it. Want me to lean it 'gainst the piano till mornin'?" Hi .E tore at the wrap- pings, and a moment later an oil canvas stood revealed, a bit of string still clinging to the frame. A small card was tucked in the corner, labeled 'The Planting." David the first took one long look His eyes were not visionary brown, but a dark blue. Eyes of mischief, that would grow to steely blue with maturity; eyes that saw mortgages instead of oils. A throwback! David the first knew there was a child, Marietta had gotten that far with her gossip before he had been able to check her. He had not even known the child was a boy. D, A HEAVILY veined, cold hand indicated that the pack- age be placed by his chair. 'Tell John to stoke the furnace extra heavy. I shall watch my tree until midnight." The voice did not invite confidence, and sighing her disappointment, Marietta with- drew. Christmas packages in this household were unusual. Every year she and her huband gave Mr. Lockwood a black silk muffler. Every year she received a new hot water bottle, and John a pair of overshoes. No surprises; no se- crecy; no tissue paper or tree. The three dined together on Christmas, the conversation consisting of gos- sip from Marietta and cold nods from David Lockwood. So long as turkey and plum pudding were still in evidence, John had no time for conversation. David the first waited until Marietta's retreating footsteps as- sured him privacy. Then he in- spected his package. His first im- pulse was to return it, unopened, but there was no address. Marietta had read correctly. No parcel post; no collect charges. FRAGILE. Undoubtedly a gift from some in- volved customer of the bank, pav- ing the way for extended loans. David Lockwood the Third and his heart missed a beat, while his chin set in hard lines. In the background was a garden of holly- hocks. At the very front of the picture lay a spade on a mound of fresh earth. A small blue spruce was being held in the open hole by a sturdy little boy. A man and a woman stood at either side, their faces radiantly happy. The blue, sleeveless suit of the child accentuated the fainter blue of the tree. David the first drew the eye- brows into their accustomed scowl. His arm drew back, as if to gain momentum to send the clinched fist through the canvas. How dared the young upstart flaunt a cherished memory before an old man' Had he, David Lockwood, the grasping banker, ever looked like the man in the picture, with- out suspicion, without a scowl, full of vision for his son? But the brown-eyed woman was true. She had always looked like that, se- rene, visionary, undisturbed. Ti HE clenched hand tightened until the veins seemed to knot, then dropped motionless to his side. The boy of the pic- ture was not his son. He had worn a box pleated suit of dark brown, with a wide, embroidery trimmed collar, long stockings and substantial shoes. This child's legs, like his arms, were bare, hint- ing of well formed muscle. He stood tiptoe in barefoot sandals. /AVID the first slumped in his chair. His wish had been denied. His son had not failed. Always he had cherished the hope that the boy, sensing his mistake, would return. Granting that, he could learn to tolerate the for- bidden woman. Men had made good bankers who trained late in life. But this picture would live. David, his son, would never be a financial power. Defeated men would never lean over his mahog- any desk, begging for mercy. No widow would ever be evicted at his order. But this picture would go down to posterity. It would be a living, vital testimony of achievement long after David the first and his fortune were forgot- ten. The supple, graceful body of the boy, the clever use of two shades of blue, the true depiction of joy on the faces of the parents, all revealed artistic ability. Like the "Age of Innocence" and the "Infant Samuel," which had hung in his bedroom, this picture would live, and attain value, and people would love and revere its creator. Although Marietta announced dinner three times, David the first did not stir. He seemed to shrink and wither in his chair, as he gazed at the canvas. Square shoulders, plump arms, this child would not be a painter of pictures. Perhaps he might — mahogany desk-ability to say no, penetrating eyes, fear- less, usury and foreclosures. David the first slept fitfully in his chair. He was awakened by a sense of chill, and a muffled, chopping sound. He rang immediately for Marietta, who appeared in curlers and dressing gown. He had slept into the early night. "What's that pounding noise?" he demanded, rising and standing directly in front of the picture, to prolong Marietta's curiosity. 1 HE aged housekeeper turned pale and fumbled with the unusual, protruding curlers. 100 The Improvement Era for December, 1930 "Well you see, sir, you said John should stoke the furnace good. He's makin' that noise. The coal was over large. John's breakin' coal. It takes a deal of poundin' this night, to get it small enough for the stoker. You'd best go to bed, sir. It's late. The carolers didn't stop. And nobody come to decorate the tree. I looked at it a while back; it ain't been fetched. "I ordered slack coal." " 'Tis hard coal, sir," reiter- ated Marietta, trying to peer at the picture. "Lumpy. Big ones. Some of 'em must be close to a hundred pounds." "John never made that much noise before. Tell him to stop for the night." "John pounded 'till he was winded. Would you mind, Mr. Lockwood, if I put just a few oysters in the dressing? I could tuck 'em up in the top, round the craw. You could eat the bottom dressing, and I'd put onions there?" "No," thundered David the first, glad for an opportunity to divert his anger. "I hate oysters. I won't have them in my turkey. Tell John to stop that pounding. There's fire enough." Marietta withdrew, hastily, gladly, the curlers making a distorted shadow of the old gray head. D 'AVID the first slept until daylight, when he wakened with a sense of impending disaster. He dressed hurriedly and went into the living room. Even Marietta's curiosity had been out-weighed with fatigue. The picture still stood as he had left it. Tomorrow he would consult a directory and have it returned. They could not win him over with sentimentality. There were no wreaths or burned candles in the windows. Relieved, he turned to the window. If the tree bore no glaring lights, there would be no cause for his vague alarm. He rubbed his eyes !in amazement and looked again and again. There was no tree. The blue spruce was gone. Only a bare, axe-hacked stump and dis- heveled, bough-strewn snow testi- fied to the former glory. Large, heavy footprints showed where the ruthless thief had circled, dragging the tree off to the sidewalk. Some man had stolen a Christmas tree for his children. He rang for Marietta and John. They respond- ed, half asleep, mumbling, inco- herent. John had stoked the fur- nace; Marietta had stuffed the tur- key. Angered by their seeming stupidity, David the first burst from the house. A few moments later a startled policeman was roused from his reverie by an excited, angry old man. "Have you seen someone going by here carrying a picea parryana?" "All deliveries stopped at two," mumbled the policeman. "I mean a tree — an evergreen. A beautiful blue spruce." "Oh, I get you now, Grandpa! You mean a Christmas tree. Folks ain't been carrying nothing else since I come on. Old folks and little kids, all a luggin' trees. Like a movin' forest." "Did you happen to notice any- one carrying a markedly beautiful specimen of blue spruce?" came the persistent question. "Well you see, Grandpa," the policeman became jocularly confi- dential, "the exams for officers don't require no knowledge of botany. To me, Christmas tree is a green tree with sharp needles. Nothing else." "A spruce or a juniper, a pine or a fir, or a cedar for instance, all would be the same to you?" quer- ied David the first icily. "Christmas trees is green trees," stolidly answered the blue-coated guardian. "A woman what's a janitor in a big building down town come walking home. She'd missed the last car, but she had three boughs cut from the bottom of a tree. An old gent had one so small it looked like robbing the cradle to cut it. A boy had a big one strapped on a sled, pulled by a dog. The whole affair top- pled over. But the queerest sight was a big man carrying a real purty tree over his shoulder. About every half block he stopped and broke off a branch and dropped it in his path. Looked like he was trying to leave a trail. There's a piece, crost the street." Christmas Prayer /HAVE the best that life can bring — A father in whose heart is set A load of pain and care, who yet Can see Cod's hand in everything. Who told me as a child, the why Of things; and when worn-out I cried Who took me on his back to ride, Though he was wearier far than I. There are no words of mine that can atone For sorrows I have placed upon his way, For all the battles he has fought alone; Rut bring me closer to him now, I pray. Help me to make his steadfast faith my own And bring him lasting joy on this, Thy day! —R. J. C. R JED with anger, warmed with a deep sense of in- justice, David the first crossed the street and picked up a branch of his beloved spruce. There could be no mistake. Firm, prickly, blue needles, each tiny twig symmetrical and odored. The thief had walked in the snow outside the beaten trail, and large footprints, far apart, marked his route. The des- picable thief, that was a fitting name for him, the despicable thief, had been a full grown man! With no thought of fatigue or hunger, David the first took up the trail, determined to bring the of- fender to justice. Twenty-five years of growth wrecked to give a child a Christmas tree! If he had to strip the tree of children's trink- ets, he would drag it and the thief into court. He would permit no bail; the judge owed him money. The miscreant could eat his Christ- mas dinner in the city jail. A. SMALL branch here, another at the end of the block. Gathering them tenderly like a stricken child, David the first marched angrily on. Past the pre- tentious houses, out into quieter streets. Smaller houses, closer to- gether, like good friends. Smoke columns rising from chimneys. The joyous cries of children, the blare of a newly christened trump- et. Wreaths and burned candles in the windows. A child hailed him, but he paid no heed. On and on, eyes to the ground, following large, bold footprints, picking up stray pieces of evergreen, until his arms were full. Before a low, rambling house, with a large rock fireplace, the trail gave extra proof that the hunt was ended. Boughs were scattered on the private walk. David the first picked them up The Improvement Era for December, 1930 101 methodically and marched up the path to the porch. A saw and nails, broken branches and sawdust gave all the additional evidence needed. The search was ended. But surely this household did not need to steal. An air of middle- class prosperity prevailed. As he rang the bell with emphasis, David the first noted that a small blue spruce grew on either side of the path. Good trees, too; small, con- ical, thick. 1 HE door opened with marked suddenness. David the first had expected the tall, full grown man whose steps he had followed for blocks. Instead, a small boy in a blue dressing gown faced him inquiringly. In his surprise David the first uttered the speech he had been rehearsing. "I am looking for the despicable thief who stole my tree!" He had expected the man to flinch and cower. But the small boy before him showed no fear. He squared his shoulders and his eyes assumed a steely blue as he answered, "My papa does not steal. He is a nice papa. He hides things in his pockets for you." "I want the despicable thief," reiterated David the first. "Won't you come in?" invited the small boy politely, and David the first stepped into the warm, pleasant room. The odor of blue spruce was evident, even before the old eyes could accustom themselves to the softer light. There stood the object of his search, by the wide fireplace. Beautiful, even in death. The child ran to bring his father, and the floating gown re- vealed a supple, firm limb, capable of standing on tiptoe to balance a young tree. The heart of David the first skipped and fluttered be- fore they returned, the young man with brown, visionary eyes, and the child with deep blue ones. David the first, clinging to the dismantled boughs, stood in the center of the room. "I have come," he began, in the cold, hard voice people had come to dread, "I have come to take a despicable thief to justice." The young man before him did not cower or flinch. He held out inviting arms and smiled disarm- ingly. "I have come," began David the first again, trying to look some- where besides at beautiful eyes. For the eyes of the young man who was taking the boughs from his weary arms were more than dreamy and visionary. They were brim- ming with love and understand- ing and tears. "You have come," interrupted the young man, "to spend Christ- mas with your family. Thank God you're here. I began to fear you had given up the trail. It took the beautiful tree we both loved to bring you, but it was worth the price! And don't you remember, Father, that when we planted the tree you said it was to be mine?" Clutching a knee of each, David the third wondered why they gripped hands so long, and why both their eyes were swimming in tears. SlTTING in the same chair beside the pungent tree, Da- vid the first and David the third became very well acquainted. They recited the nursery rhymes on the now beautiful blocks; they counted the numerals up to a hundred; every letter of the alphabet was there for the finding. A plump, inquisitive forefinger had smoothed out the wrinkle between the shag- gy brows; the old, grizzled mouth had kissed the dimples on the young neck. "I stood so still while Daddy painted me in the picture," vol- unteered the small boy. I stood a whole minute. The you in the picture hasn't got wrinkles." The old blue eyes looked into the young blue eyes and smiled. "Wrinkles will vanish with you around," he answered, and the dimples received another kiss. When the once forbidden girl began to make noises that sounded like breakfast, David the first beck- oned to David the second. "Phone Marietta that the pounding of coal and the chopping of trees do sound somewhat alike," a timid smile gathered on his lips and broadened into a real grin. "And tell her she can put a thou- sand oysters into the dressing, for I'm not going home for dinner." — Music Is Everywhere [Continued from page 87] covery of new and more distant stations. DUT whatever our primary in- terest may be, the radio never- theless makes it possible to tune in at some time or other with stations which are broadcasting really splendid programs of the finest music. So my suggestion is simply this: Do what you will the rest of the time, but at least once a week tune into one of the su- perior programs and then devote a brief time to concentrated listen- ing. The length of the period is not essential; the important thing is that while it continues let the period be absolutely uninter- rupted. Let conversation cease, shut out noises and stop moving about. While this listening period continues, give the music program the same close attention that a business man would give an im- portant business proposition. Learn how to listen, learn how to hear everything that goes on. You will soon be astonished at the beauties in the music which you never noticed before. If you can read up in advance on some of the items of the program, so much the better. If you can subsequent- ly read about the music you have heard, or if you can yourself play over some of the compositions or listen to them on the phonograph — that is all to the good. But if at least once a week, in your own home, with your own family and friends, you can learn how to enjoy the real treat of uninterrupt- edly concentrating on listening to good music, then the radio will soon become a blessing and will justify as never before its presence in your home. Music has become our constant companion. It is with us always and everywhere. The question is: how can we make the most of this situation; what are you going to do about it? 102 The Improvement Era for December, 1930 A Really Merry Christmas {Continued from page 96] "Which one you going to have for Christmas, Sue?" she asked. "That one?" indicating a monster. Andy looked quickly at Aunt Sue who stood like a stone image. "Which one?" persisted Annie. "I think that little hen would be big enough for us," said Andy, feeling sorry for his Aunt Sue. "She's fat." "Well, I think not," snapped Aunt Sue. 'That hen'll go to the market 'long with the rest of t it em. "I know it," said Andy quickly. "I'd just as soon have chicken." He turned to frown at Annie, but the kindly neighbor glancing up in time to catch the look of hatred flashed at the boy, wouldn't be silenced. "Now, Sue," she argued, "you know you should havte one of those turkeys — after the way Andy's cared for them. You didn't have one Thanksgiving." "We had nothin' to be thankful for, either him or me; and we ain't goin' to pertend that we're merry at Christmas, either," said Susan Blake, and turned back to the house. Ai LNDY looked after her a second, and swallowed hard, as if the lump in his breasf was about to engulf him. Then he looked at Mrs. Brown, whose cheeks were very red. Andy thought her feelings were hurt, and he felt sorry. "Want to see my new Guernsey calf?" he asked, to divert her thoughts. "She's a beauty." Annie, struggling to control her anger, followed the boy into the barn. "See how she loves me," said Andy, rubbing his face against the velvety softness of the baby calf. "Listen, Andy," said Annie, "I want you to get your clothes and come home with me. We'll have you as our visitor for the holidays, then you'll go off to school where you'll be treated — like a human being. You can't stay here an- other night." "Why, Miz Brown," cried Andy, climbing out of the calf's pen, and coming over where he could see her — in the eye. "I can't leave Aunt Sue — all alone here — Christmas comin' on, too. She couldn't do these chores — she's iust too miz'able." "And she's making you miser- able; and your father wouldn't want that. No, dear, you've given her her chance, and she's getting worse. Come, get your clothes. Remember, Andy," she reminded him when he refused to move, "Noah's your guardian." He went with her then to the house. At the door he stopped. "If she says she wants me to stay, can I?" he asked anxiously. "Oh, Andy, child! Do you really want to stay with her?" cried Annie, bewildered. H) .E nodded. "Can I?" he asked again. "If she wants you — yes — that is, if she'll treat you better," Annie promised; and they went in. Sue Blake did not speak as they entered. "Look here, Sue," Annie began at once. "I'm ready now to take Andy. He'll spend Christmas with us, and then go to school. You'll It's Christinas Eve 1 T'S Christmas Eve — the north Star shines Jest like the Star of Beth-le-hem above them pines. But Him who notes the sparrow's fall Kin hear a cowbody — er his cay use call. A hawse ain't Christian, some wud say. But, Pal, I'd never talk that way. It seems tu me that any fool Could_ see yuh live the Golden Rule. You've been four square, and it may be Yure some few jumps ahead of me. Yuh mebbe don't know how to pray, Fer hawses jest ain't built that way — But if service counts — an' that's the test — Wy yure a Christian — 'mong the best. We seem alone — and yet — it's strange- — We feels His presence on this range. It's Christmas Eve — His great love shines Jest like that Star above them pines; — Harrison R. Merrill. be glad to be rid of him, of course. "She hadn't meant to say that, but her anger drove her to harsh- ness. "What?" cried Sue, staring at the speaker. "But I can stay, she says," Andy put in, taking a hesitant step to- wards her, "if you want me. You do want me, don't you, Aunt Sue?" M) .RS. BLAKE contin- ued to stare at her neighbor un- comprehendingly. 'Yo.u see she doesn't want you, dear," Annie reached a comforting hand to the boy, but he brushed it aside and took another step nearer the stricken woman. "I can stay if you say you want me, Aunt Sue," he raised his voice, thinking she might not have heard. Aunt Sue sighed, a long, deep sigh, then turned and looked at the child strangely as if coming out of a long sleep. "Go to her, Andy," Annie whispered, the tears stinging her eyes. ANDY walked slowly, timidly to Aunt Sue's side, and leaned against her, as he used to do in other days before the terrible tragedy. 'You do want me, Aunt Sue, don't you," he said again, and the childish voice broke — and the next minute he was in Aunt Sue's arms sobbing the great lump away for all time. Annie Brown slipped out quiet- ly, unnoticed. Aunt Sue was her- self again, mothering the little or- phan that had stood by her so staunchly. "And we'll have the biggest turkey in that pen for Christmas," she was bribing the tears away. not realizing that her own face was drenched. "Oh, gee," said Andy, coming out of his 'unhappiness with a start, "and can I cut a little fir tree — for a Christmas tree?" "Indeed you can, and we'll- — - Andy, go to the 'phone and call up that 'lectric company and see if they can install 'lectricity in here 'fore Christmas, so's we can have the tree 'lectric lighted." Andy flew to the phone. "Yes, sir — yes, sir, Aunt Sue, they can. They can/' he shouted. "Oh, boy, won't we have some Christmas tree, though?" [Continued on page 128]