“Now, show me things,” she said, drawing a deep breath. “I like it, it is all so big and free, without carts and cars and folks, and you see so far.” The day was unusually warm for the season. The soft rain in the night had melted the snow, leaving a clear path to a ledge of rocks in a huckleberry pasture, against which a rough shed had been built as a shelter for the sheep. It was open on one side, commanding a fine view of the country for miles to the west and south. Here Kenneth took Connie, who was fond of nature in all its aspects, and expanded like some delicate flower in the warm sunshine, with the lovely panorama of mountains and hills and valleys and woods spread out before her. “It’s just like a picture, and I like it,” she said, seating herself upon an old wooden chair which Harry had brought there with his book the summer before when he wanted to read and not be asked to do anything. The deacon had few sheep now, and as those were kept in another pasture, the inclosure was very clean and covered with grass, which looked fresh and green after the rain and the snow. “Just the place for a Christmas tree! I have always had one for years and years, ever since I can remember,” Connie said, with the air of a woman of fifty. Kenneth thought a moment and then replied: “Tell me what you do. I’ve never seen one, but have an idea.” “Never seen a Christmas tree!” and Connie looked as if she thought him a heathen as she began a graphic description of the little trees her aunt had for her in the bow window of the dining-room. Ornaments and tapers and dolls and candy and toys of every description made a most bewildering picture to Kenneth. He might manage the tree, he thought, as he glanced at a clump of pines not far away, but the ornaments and ribbons and tapers and dolls and candy discouraged him. Then suddenly he remembered the little sled in the garret, and the walnuts and butternuts and cakes of maple sugar in the pantry, and a picture-book of animals given him as a reward of merit by one of his teachers when he was a little shaver. Then there was the knife bought for Harry, and the mittens his mother had knit, and the skates his father had bought. He could put these on the tree and make believe Hal was there to get them. There had been no presents thought of for him. Everything was for Hal, but he didn’t mind. If others were happy he was, and he had all he could desire in the little girl sitting so quietly in the old chair and looking off upon the landscape. “Connie,” he said at last, “would you like a tree here in the sheep cote, even if it didn’t have all those jimcracks? A real country tree, I mean?” “I guess I would,” she answered, emphasizing each word with a kick upon the rounds of the chair. “Well, then,” Kenneth said, “I think I can manage it this afternoon, but you must say nothing about it.”