“Why didn’t you say so?  How should I know it was for Scrubby?  Of course, I’ll go!  I’d do anything for her.  She did enough for me, I should think,”—­and, as quickly as he could, he pulled his one foot out of the ground and hopped into the snow beside the horse.  Then he went on talking.  “You see if it hadn’t been for Scrubby I wouldn’t be alive at all.  She heard somebody say that I needed to have the dirt loosened about my roots, and to have plenty of water.  So she dug around me at a great rate, and watered me until I was almost drowned.  She cut off a good many of my roots, and once she threw hot water all down this side of me; but she didn’t know.  I’m not much of a tree, I confess; but Scrubby did what she could, and if she wants me she shall have me.”

“Come on, then,” said the chicken, “for I’m so cold my bill chatters.”  And they went.

It was a very funny procession they made going back to the house,—­the horse prancing along with the sled, the three dolls taking a sleigh-ride in their queer way, Spot racing about everywhere with Minx on his back, and the tree hopping along after the sled as fast as his one foot could go.  The chicken rode back on one of Norway’s branches, and fluttered and squawked more than ever.

When they started, they looked about and called for the sparrow, Mrs. Squirrel, and Mr. Rabbit, but they had all disappeared; so the rest went back without them, shouting, laughing and singing.

IV.

It was a brave sight they saw when Jumping Jack opened the door to let the party in.

Luce had got away from her little bedfellow at last without waking her.  She knew that the others had gone to get a tree for little Scrub, and she knew that a tree was just no tree at all without plenty of things to hang upon it.  So she went to work, and by the time Jack opened the door she had a great deal done.  It was astonishing how many things she had found to put on that tree; but then she had been rummaging among Scrubby’s old playthings up in the garret.

There were old dolls, little and big; there were old toys of all sorts; there were pretty little pictures, and quantities of flowers made of bright paper.  A great many of the things Scrubby had thrown aside so long ago they would be new to her now; and some of them mamma had put away very carefully, so that the little girl should not altogether spoil them.

Lucy had found them all and had brought them down-stairs; and now she had them in a heap on the floor, trying to keep them in order, for they were all very lively at being brought out again.

“Well, Luce, you have done it!” Jack said.

“Of course, I have,” answered Lucy.  “Do keep that horse away, Jack, and not let him run over these babies.”

“Oh dear!” squawked the chicken, and fluttered under the table, for these new-comers were all strangers to him.