voice faltered. Grandfather had always helped to dress the tree.
"Oh, but," cried December, "this will never do. Why, you must have a tree! Never mind if there isn't any thing to put on it. The Christ-child and I will see to that. Now I'll tell you,—you just cut a nice fir-bough, and set it here against the door, and I'll pledge my word, as an honest Month, that something shall come from outside and fall upon it. Do you give me your promise that you will?"
They promised,—half doubtful, half believing. And then December asked for the can, and, turning it upside down, poured out the last particles of sand.
"Dear! dear!" he said reflectively, "what a blessing that these are not lost! How the babies would have cried at being forced to go to bed half an hour sooner on Christmas night! And the Anthem would have been cut short on the blessed morning too, and the bells been cheated
