Old Mister Hawk came walking along the far bank of the creek, leading his mule to get water. She saw me and blinked her eyes and gave her tail a swish. Before I could say anything, though, Mister Hawk took her away without even looking up. All he said was, "Let's go, Nellie." Then, three kings on bay horses came galloping by, their calico robes rippling in the wind, their laughter ringing through the woods. "Pick some presents!" I called. All whirled around and came back, and they gathered fine gifts from my boughs-enough to fill their saddlebags. "Where are you going in such a rush?" "To see the Holy Babe!" they cried. "Why not take me?" I asked. "Yeah! Let's take the whole tree!" So, with merry shouts, they pulled me up and carried me away to the Holy Babe in the hay box. Chapter 10 Every Preaching Sunday morning, right after services were finished and we were ready to leave the church grounds, Papa said two things, one to the mules, the other to Mama. He'd get Belle and Puddin' Foot unhitched and backed away from our oak tree and headed toward the main road; then he'd give the mules a light slap with the reins and say, "Belle! Puddin' Foot! Quit moving like molasses! There's such a thing as getting home 'fore dark!" Then he'd look around at Mama and say, "Nannie, looks like on preaching days you invite everybody and his dog to go home with us for dinner!" And every single time, Mama would smile up at Papa and say, "Well, ain't you glad the dogs don't come!" Then they would laugh, and we'd ride on home. Mama would start putting all the Sunday good things on the dinner table, and Papa would leave the wide gate open so the company folks could drive their wagons and buggies into the well lot, where a long time ago Grandpa Thad had wedged hitching rings deep into the trunks of the black walnut trees. And before the company men could unharness their teams, Papa would have his feed trough filled with fodder and corn. But the first Sunday after Christmas, I knew Papa wouldn't tell Mama a thing about inviting dogs to come eat dinner. Our wagon was the last one leaving the church grounds, and nobody was going home with us, not even Mierd and Wiley. Jenny Goode had begged Mama to let Mierd go to her house to eat dinner and spend the evening, and Mama had said she could. Wiley had gone home with the Hansen boys, and Wallace Goode went there too. Papa climbed into the wagon, gave Belle and Puddin' Foot a light slap with the reins, and told them about how slow cold molasses moves in wintertime. As usual, they paid no attention. "You didn't ask anybody to take dinner with us today, Nannie?" "I asked several, Jodie. But Miss Maime had already invited Vic and the schoolteacher to go with her and Doctor Elton. And January is always their turn to take the preacher, you remember." "Yeah, I bet Doctor Elton's looking forward to that! It'll half kill the man to sit all evening and talk to Brother Milligan!"