Mary Ware in TexasJohnston, Annie F. (Annie Fellows)
General
Mary Ware in Texas
Johnston, Annie F. (Annie Fellows)
Texas -- Juvenile fiction; Young women -- Juvenile fiction
"They are not going without," replied Mary promptly, who had been
thinking rapidly as she walked. "We've got to get something ready for
them before they shut their eyes to-night."
"Huh, I'd like to know how you'll do it this late," Norman answered.
She laughed in reply, saying teasingly, "Who was it said that 'A little
Ingenuity added to almost any material that comes to hand will make a
tasty pie?' Well, it will make a tasty tree too. If you'll help I'll
have one ready in an hour."
His skeptical "I don't believe it! Why, you _can't_!" was all she needed
to start her to working out her resolution with the force of a young
whirlwind. She could plan with lightning-like rapidity when any need
arose.
"I said if you'd all help," she reminded him.
As soon as he had expressed a hearty willingness to do anything he could
to carry "Sandy Claws" to the camp-yard, she began.
"The minute we get home, you hack off one of the bottom branches of that
cedar tree outside the gate; a good bushy one about three feet high. Put
it into the box that Joyce's presents came in, and nail it in place
with cleats made from the lid. Better weight it with some stones in the
bottom, and we can tack green crêpe paper all over the base. We've
nothing but ordinary white candles, but we can cut them in two, and wire
them on with hairpins, and cover the pins with tinfoil out of my
scrap-box that you make so much fun of. That will be _your_ part.
"There's some corn already popped, waiting till I get back, to be made
into balls. I'll get mamma to string it instead, and Jack to make a lot
of little gilt cornucopias out of some stuff I've saved. I'm sure he'll
donate the candy cane Joyce sent as a joke, although he is so fond of
old-fashioned striped peppermint sticks. We'll break it up into short
pieces and hang that on. And we can tie up a few dates and nuts into
tiny packages. There are fancy papers and ribbons galore in that
aforesaid scrap-box. I'll think of more after we get started. Come on,
let's race the rest of the way. The one who gets there first can tell
the others."
Norman reached the front door several yards ahead of Mary, but he did
not claim his privilege. He merely rushed into the kitchen for a
hatchet, calling as he dashed out again, "Sixty minutes to make a
Christmas tree in! Everybody get to work." Mary did not stop to take
off her hat. Throwing off her coat, she began talking "on the bounce" as
Jack said, for she hurried from one room to the other, explaining at the
top of her voice, while she gathered up pop-corn, scrap-box, paste-tube
and scissors. Her enthusiasm was so contagious, her description of the
camp-yard pilgrims so appealing, that by the time she had finished her
breathless account of them Jack had begun cutting squares of gilt paper
and Mrs. Ware was stringing corn as if they were working to win a wager.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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