and shiny, and quick and noiseless as bright snakes.

Overholt thought so, too; but the trouble was that he saw not even the
least little mite of a tree in sight for his boy when the 25th of
December should come. And it was coming, and was only a month away; and
time is not a local train that stops at every station, and then kicks
itself on a bit to stop at the next; it is the "Fast Limited," and, what
is more, it is the only one we can go by; and we cannot get out, because
it never stops anywhere.




II

HOW A MAN AND A BOY FOUNDED THE LITTLE CITY OF HOPE


Overholt's boy came home from school at the usual hour with his books
buckled together in an old skate strap, which had never been very good
because the leather was too soft and tore from one hole to the next; but
it served very well for the books, as no great strain was caused by an
arithmetic thumbed to mushiness, a history in the same state, and a
geography of which the binding gave in and doubled up from sheer
weariness, while the edges were so worn that the eastern coast of China
and Siberia had quite disappeared.

He was a good-looking lad, not tall for his age, but as tough as a
street cat in hard training. He had short and thick brown hair, a clear
complexion, his father's energetically intellectual features, though