"He told me that evenin' is the customary hour fer to have a tree,
anyhow," concluded Keno, hopefully. "He says he was off when he said
to turn it loose at noon."
"Does he think Miss Doc can git the little feller fixed all up to
celebrate to-night?" inquired Bone. "Is that the bill of fare?"
"That's about it," said Keno, importantly. "I'm to come and let you
know when we're ready."
Impatient for the night to arrive, excited anew, when at last it closed
in on the world of snow and mountains, the celebrators once more
gathered at the shop and lighted up their tree. The wind was rushing
brusquely up the street; the snow began once more to fall. From the
"Palace" saloon came the sounds of music, laughter, song, and revelry.
Light streamed forth from the window in glowing invitation. All day
long its flow of steaming drinks and its endless succession of savory
dishes had laded the air with temptation.
Not a few of the citizens of Borealis had succumbed to the gayer
attractions of Parky's festival, but the men who had builded a
Christmas-tree and loaded its branches with presents waited and waited
for tiny Skeezucks in the dingy shop.
The evening passed. Night aged in the way that wintry storm and
lowering skies compel.
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