"Say, Jenny," he called, "when are you going over on the mountain to
find the Christmas-tree? You'd better go pretty soon, or they'll be
gone."
"That's so!" chimed in one of the girls. "You'd better go right off,
Jenny."
She passed along, her face shyly dimpling with her little innocent
smile, and said nothing. She would never talk much.
She had quite a long walk to her home. Presently, as she was pushing
weakly through the new snow, Earl went flying past her in his father's
sleigh, with the black horses and the fur-capped coachman. He never
thought of asking her to ride. If he had, he would not have hesitated a
second before doing so.
Jenny, as she waded along, could see the mountain always before her.
This road led straight to it, then turned and wound around its base. It
had stopped snowing, and the sun was setting clear. The great white
mountain was all rosy. It stood opposite the red western sky. Jenny kept
her eyes fixed upon the mountain. Down in the valley shadows her little
simple face, pale and colorless, gathered another kind of radiance.
There was no school the next day, which was the one before Christmas. It
was pleasant, and not very cold. Everybody was out; the little village
stores were crowded; sleds trailing Christmas-greens went flying; people
were hastening with parcels under their arms, their hands full.
Jenny Brown also was out.
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