But the severe cold of the morning precluded the idea of an auto ride in search of the tree, and the time was spent in many little preparations for the holiday—­odds and ends that ever hang on, in spite of the most carefully-laid plans to get through in good time.

By noon, however, the weather had moderated.  Clouds hung thick and heavy, and not a glimmer of sun appeared, but the cold was less keen and the winds had almost entirely subsided.

Joe and Roger went off to the skating-pond directly after luncheon, and Dorothy, eager to get the tree before the storm should break (for every one said it would surely snow before nightfall), proposed the trip to the woods.

Nat and Ned, as well as Tavia, readily agreed, and with plenty of extra wraps, as well as the patent foot-warming attachment from the auto radiator in operation, the party started off.

“Now, where?” asked Ned, who was at the wheel.

“I saw a dear little tree over Beechwood way,” said Dorothy, “but perhaps you boys know where we might find a larger one.”

“Never bother about pines or cedars,” answered Nat, “but I would first rate like a spruce—­I love the smell of a good fresh spruce.  Makes me think of—­a good smoke!”

“Next day in the best lace curtains,” added Tavia.  “That’s about how much spruce smells like real smoke.”

“Try the Duncan place,” interposed Nat.  “Used to be plenty of pretty trees about there.”

Following this suggestion the Fire Bird was directed toward the Glen, where, set in a deep clump of trees, could be seen one of the very old residences of the township.

“Is it inhabited?” asked Tavia as they swung into the rough drive.

“Oh, yes,” replied Nat.  “Old Cummings and his wife live there.  It’s a fine old place, too.  Pity all the old places are allowed to go to rack and ruin.”

“No Christmas trees around here,” declared Ned, wheeling about along the turn in the drive.  “Queer, I would have bet I saw spruce in this grove.”

“I’ll tell you,” exclaimed Nat.  “Tanglewood Park.  That’s the very place for a choice selection of real old cheroot spruces.”

“Yes,” groaned Ned, “five miles away.”

“I don’t think it’s very cold,” ventured Dorothy.

“But the air is full of snow,” announced Ned.

“Well, do we go to Tanglewood Park or back to The Cedars?” asked Ned.

“How long will it take to go to the Park?” questioned Dorothy.

“Oh, we may as well try it,” concluded Ned, turning the Fire Bird in the direction of the open road and starting off.

“Your haunted house, you know, Tavia,” said Nat as they whizzed along.  “Now we will, have a chance to make the very intimate acquaintance of a real, up-to-date ghost.”

“Oh, is that the place?” said Tavia in surprise.  “Well, I’ll just be tickled to death to pay a visit there.  I have never quite made up my mind whether the light was in the house or—­”