The one boy lounged against the blackboard. His dark,
straight-profiled face was all aglow as he talked. His big brown eyes
gazed now soberly and impressively at Jenny, then gave a gay dance in
the direction of the other girls.
"Yes, it does--_honest_!" said he.
The other girls nudged one another softly; but Jenny Brown stood with
her innocent, solemn eyes fixed upon Earl Munroe's face, drinking in
every word.
"You ask anybody who knows," continued Earl; "ask Judge Barker, ask--the
minister--"
"Oh!" cried the little girls; but the boy shook his head impatiently at
them.
"Yes," said he; "you just go and ask Mr. Fisher to-morrow, and you'll
see what he'll tell you. Why, look here"--Earl straightened himself and
stretched out an arm like an orator--"it's nothing more than
_reasonable_ that Christmas-trees grow wild with the presents all on
'em! What sense would there be in 'em if they didn't, I'd like to know?
They grow in different places, of course; but these around here grow
mostly on the mountain over there. They come up every spring, and they
all blossom out about Christmas-time, and folks go hunting for them to
give to the children. Father and Ben are over on the mountain to-day--"
"Oh, oh!" cried the little girls.
"I mean, I guess they are," amended Earl, trying to put his feet on the
boundary--line of truth. "I hope they'll find a full one."
Jenny Brown had a little, round, simple face; her thin brown hair was
combed back and braided tightly in one tiny braid tied with a bit of
shoe-string.
Pages:
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96