for Christmas--'specially as you never wear crocheted bed-slippers?"

Lydia Ann stirred uneasily. "Why, of course, Samuel," she began
hesitatingly, "bed-slippers are very nice, an'--"

"So's codfish!" interrupted Samuel in open scorn. "Come," he coaxed,
"jest supposin' we was youngsters again, a-tellin' Santa Claus what we
wanted. What would you ask for?"

Lydia Ann laughed. Her cheeks grew pink, and the lost spirit of her
youth sent a sudden sparkle to her eyes. "You'd laugh, dearie. I ain't
a-goin' ter tell."

"I won't--'pon honor!"

"But it's so silly," faltered Lydia Ann, her cheeks a deeper pink. "Me--
an old woman!"

"Of course," agreed Samuel promptly. "It's bound ter be silly, ye know,
if we want anythin' but slippers an' neckerchiefs," he added with a
chuckle. "Come--out with it, Lyddy Ann."

"It's--it's a tree."

"Dampers and doughnuts!" ejaculated Samuel, his jaw dropping. "A tree!"

"There, I knew you'd laugh," quavered Lydia Ann, catching up her
knitting.

"Laugh? Not a bit of it!" averred Samuel stoutly. "I--I want a tree