But he had not found one yet, and so the chicken told him.

“I don’t know,” he said.  “Suppose I call Mrs. Squirrel.  She can tell.”  And off he flew, and had the gray squirrel there in a minute, cold as it was.

Then they had to tell the story over again to Mrs. Squirrel and to Mr. Rabbit, who had also hopped along to see what the fuss was all about.

“Scrubby’s got to have a tree, and that’s all about it,” chattered Mrs. Squirrel, as she whisked about in a state of great excitement.  “I didn’t know old Kriss could be so mean as that.  Call him a saint!  And all because Scrubby’s poor!  Humph!  Don’t seem to me she is so very poor.  Didn’t I give her those eyes she has?  And didn’t the robin give her his own throat?  And hasn’t she a sunbeam inside, that shines all through?  And didn’t Miss June roll up all the flowers she had, and a dozen birds beside, and wrap the whole bundle up in Scrubby’s brown skin?  I don’t call that being so very poor, do you?  Anyhow, she is not so poor but that she could make me feel jolly every time she came out-doors last summer to run after me and chatter to me.”

The rabbit had been standing all this time with one cold foot wrapped up in his ear.  He unfolded his ear now, and wiped his eyes with it.

“She almost cried,” he said.  “Just think of one of my little bunnies wanting anything she couldn’t get, and crying about it!  It just breaks my heart.”

“Tree!” chirped the chicken.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Squirrel, “why don’t you go and get a tree for Scrubby?  What do you all stand here for, chattering and doing nothing?  I’d give her mine, only that great beech couldn’t be got into the house.”

“We wanted your advice,” the sparrow suggested.

“Advice!  You don’t need any advice.  Why don’t you give her your own tree?  That little Norway spruce is just the thing.  Come along, and don’t be so selfish!”

“I’m not selfish; but really Norway is not fit, and, besides, I don’t believe he’ll go.”

“Nonsense!  He’s a beautiful tree, only there isn’t much green on him; and of course he’ll go, for we’ll make him go,” answered the very decided Mrs. Squirrel.

So they all whisked away to the sparrow’s roosting-place.  Norway was not in good health, that was evident.  He was very thin, and his temper was in bad condition too; for when the sparrow asked him if he would please step out and come with them, he answered: 

“Not much I wont!  It’s bad enough standing here in the ground, poorly as I am, without coming out there in the snow; and I’ll not do it for anybody.”

“Oh dear!  Scrubby will be so disappointed!  What will she do?” they all cried out at once.

“What’s that about Scrubby?  What has Scrubby got to do with my catching my death-cold, anyhow?” asked Norway.

And then they told him the whole story.  He hardly waited for them to get through before he broke out talking very fast.