The cracking of everything out of doors next morning brought both Tavia
and Dorothy to the realization of the fact that another day had
come--another day bitterly cold.

They had hoped for snow, but Tavia, being first to reach the window,
called to Dorothy that not a single flake had fallen.

"Then perhaps we can ride out to the woods and get a Christmas tree,"
said Dorothy, mindful of little Roger's wish of the previous night.

"We would freeze," declared Tavia. "Why, everything is snapping and
cracking--but there must be fine skating," she broke off abruptly.

"Likely," answered Dorothy, "but I am anxious to get the tree, and if we
do not get it before the storm comes we will have to take a boughten one.
But I do so love a hand-picked tree. It has always been a part of our
Christmas to get one."

Tavia was not at all particular about that part of it--whether it was
hand-picked or peddler-purchased, and she said so promptly.

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.