"I should say you did!" said Calvin. "Now you hop right in here with me, little gal! Hopsy upsy--there she comes! Let me tuck you in good--so! now you tell me which way to go, and hossy and me'll git there. That's a fair division, ain't it?" Still panting, the child pointed down a narrow cross-road, on which at some distance stood a solitary house. "That the house?" asked Calvin. Mittie May nodded. "I hope Miss Fidely ain't large for her size," said Calvin; "she might fit rayther snug if she was." It was a tiny house, gray and weather-beaten; but the windows were trim with white curtains and gay with flowers; on the stone wall a row of milk-pans flashed back the afternoon sun; the whole air of the place was cheerful and friendly. "I expect Miss Fidely's all right!" said Calvin with emphasis. "Smart woman, to judge by the looks of her pans, and there's nothing better to go by as I know of. Them's as bright as Miss Hands's, and more than that I can't say. Now you hop out, Mittie May, and ask her will she step out and see the goods, or shall I bring in any special line?" The child stared. "She can't come out!" she said. "Miss Fidely can't walk." "Can't walk!" repeated Calvin. "No! and the path ain't shovelled wide enough for her to come out. Come in and see her, please!" His eyes very round, Calvin followed the child up the narrow path and in at the low door. Then he stopped short. The door opened directly into a long, low room, the whole width of the house. The whitewashed walls were like snow, the bare floor was painted bright yellow, with little islands of rag carpet here and there. There were a few quaint old rush-bottomed chairs, and in one corner what looked like a child's trundle-bed, gay with a splendid sunflower quilt. These things Calvin saw afterwards; the first glance showed him only the Tree and its owner. It was a low, spreading tree, filling one end of the room completely. Strings of pop-corn festooned the branches, and flakes of cotton-wool snow were cunningly disposed here and there. Bright apples peeped from amid the green, and from every tip hung a splendid star of tinsel or tin foil. No "boughten stuff" these; all through the year Miss Fidely patiently begged from her neighbors: from the women the tinsel on their button-cards, from the men the "silver" that wrapped their tobacco. Carefully pressed under the big Bible, they waited till Christmas, to become the glory of the Tree. The presents might not have impressed a city child much, for every one was made by Miss Fidely herself; the aprons, the mittens, the cotton-flannel rabbits and bottle-dolls for the tiny ones, the lace-trimmed sachets and bows for the older girls. Mittie May, all forgetful of marble palaces, stole one glance of delighted awe, and then remembered her manners. "Here's the Candy Man, Miss Fidely!" she said. Miss Fidely turned quickly; she had been tying an apple to one of the lower branches with scarlet worsted.