Then the topic was usually diverted into the lives of other Rocky Forkers until Alanson felt it was time to go home. But to-night, after drawing out his silver watch by its steel log-chain, he lingered uneasily instead of rising from the settee and saying, “Well, I better be moseying towards home.” The flashing of Wilda’s needles went on. She had a leather stall pinned to her waist, in which she braced and steadied the most rampant needle as he led the gallop around the stocking. Sweetness slept as a spirit may sleep who has escaped the bounds of care, her sunken little mouth and wrinkled eye-corners steadily smiling. “Going to have any Christmas up here to-morrow?” inquired Alanson, with a sheepish look at Wilda. “I got a Christmas gift for her,” replied Wilda fondly. Alanson understood the pronouns which always stood for mother. “Well, now, it’s funny,” said he. “But I got something for her, too.” “Why, Lanson! What ever put you up to do such a thing?” Wilda paused with her needle held back in mid plunge. “’Tisn’t much,” apologized Alanson, and he brought his wamus from the peg to the hearth. Wilda had noticed it was laden when she hung it up, but she always discreetly overlooked the apples he brought until he made his offering. There were no apples in the wamus pockets this time. Alanson took out two packets, and opened one which he laid on Wilda’s knee. It was a pound of red hearts. “The other’s for her,” he said “and it’s all white ones.” “Why, Lanson Bundle!” exclaimed Wilda. But he had yet another paper, and it disclosed the yellow coats of tropical fruit. “What’s them?” breathed Wilda, bending over in admiration. “Why, Lanson Bundle! If them ain’t lemons and oranges! Where in this world did you get them?” “I sent clean to Fredericktown for them,” confessed the suitor with an apologetic grin. “I thought her being bedfast so steady all the time, she’d like something out of the common.” “You are _real_ clever,” spoke Wilda with trembling voice. “She’ll be so tickled! I been making her two fine caps with hem-stitching around the border;--but this does beat all!” “I done something else,” Alanson ventured on, “that you’ll think is simple;--I’ve never seen such a thing, but I’ve read about it. Coming along through the pines I took my jack-knife out and cut a little one off close to the ground; and it’s laying outside the door.” “What for, Lanson?” “A Christmas-tree.” “What’s that?” “Why, in a foreign place they call Germany, I’ve read they take an evergreen and make it stand like it growed in the house, and hang gifts on it, and if I don’t disremember, they fix candles into it and light them.” “I should think that would be pretty,” said Wilda in some excitement. “Law, Lanson! If we could fix it at the foot of her trundle-bed!”