"Snow," he said discouragingly, for all he had determined to ignore the remark, "snow is always white." Jimsy shook his head. "Naw," he said. "N'York snow's gray an' dirty. Specks said the snow we seen on the hills from the train winder was Christmas card snow, and with that the minister he up an' tells Specks an' me 'bout reg'lar old-fashioned country Christmases, fire like this an' Christmas trees an'--an' sleigh-bells an' gifts an' wreaths an' skatin' an' holly--Gee--" "That," said Abner Sawyer with cold finality, "will be quite enough." "Sure," agreed Jimsy. "A Christmas like that 'snuff fur any kid." Irritably conscious that his reproof had been misinterpreted, the first citizen riveted his gaze upon the Lindon _Evening News_. But he could not read. Jimsy's irreverent air of friendliness was not the only disturbing factor in his Christmasing. Jimsy, plainly, was cherishing expectations. Conscious-driven, Abner Sawyer laid aside his paper. [Illustration] "James," he began primly, "I must take this occasion to inform you that Mrs. Sawyer and I spend Christmas quietly--very quietly. We have never had a Christmas tree, and personally I consider that holly is most suitable and decorative where Nature planted it. Christmas," finished Mr. Sawyer, slightly disconcerted by Jimsy's attentive stare, "Christmas is merely a day and a dinner. Let the frivolous make of it an orgy of sentimentality if they will." Jimsy's face fell. "Gee!" he said, "your Christmas ain't just an extra Sunday, is it?" Shocked, Abner Sawyer glinted over the tops of his glasses. "No," he said with an effort, "it--it is somewhat different." "How's it different?" "I"--the first citizen froze--"I hardly know." [Illustration] "What d'ye have that ye don't have Sundays?" "I--I believe it's turkey," conceded Mr. Sawyer desperately, and feeling his dignity hopelessly compromised by a dialogue of such pronounced informality, returned to his paper. "Gee!" said Jimsy, with a sigh of relief, "that's mos' enuff itself to make a Christmas. Hain't never tasted turkey." He was silent a minute, in which the clock ticked loudly. It was purple now beyond the old-fashioned panes and the lamp seemed brighter. Jimsy's shrill young voice broke the quiet, as it would, of course, be sure to do. "Say," he said kindly, "don't you worry none about that there Christmas tree an' no holly. We'll have a thump-walloper of a day, anyhow!" It is conceivable that Abner Sawyer's experience with thump-wallopers had been limited. There was something in the boy's words, however, that brought his gaze over the top of his spectacles again and over his paper. It was disconcerting to note that Jimsy still bristled with faith and friendliness and cheerful expectation. "My remark," he said coldly, "about the absence of a tree and holly was a statement--not an apology."