e. She wants a
tree, and she's going to have it."

"You ought to have heard how she talked to her papa and old Luce
to-night," sobbed the one-eyed baby. "It was enough to break a body's
heart."

"We did hear her," they all snuffled.

Then they wiped their eyes, and a minute afterward, with much chatter,
they began to make preparations for getting the tree.

All but Spot. Scrubby had used him the worst of all, she loved him so.
She had pulled every hair on him loose, and had twisted his tail until
it hung crooked; and yet Spot could not speak or do anything for crying
over little Scrubby's grief.

III.

Pretty soon, Lucy, who had listened to as much of this talk as she
could, heard the whole party go out of the back door and start off
somewhere. She was in a great state of mind about it. Not for anything
in the world would she waken Scrubby; but oh! how she longed to tumble
down-stairs and rush off after the rest!

What a party it was that did go out of that back door! And in what
style they went! Ned, the canary, was the only one left behind; and
those who couldn't walk, rode. For they had hitched the horse to
Scrubby's little battered sled, and made a grand sleighing party of it.

Jumping Jack drove, of course. The French lady had the seat of honor on
the sled, and much trouble she had to keep it, for there was nothing to
hold on by, and her head was so loose that it nearly threw her over.

Lyd had wrapped a dish-towel about her, and felt very comfortable and
well-dressed; while Peg had come just as she was, and they both rolled
about on the sled in a very dangerous fashion.

The late chicken held on with his claws to the curl of the runner, and
flapped his wings and squawked every time the sled plunged a little in
the snow. Minx rode horseback as before, while Spot went afoot, jumping
and barking, and snapping up a mouthful of snow every few minutes.

But not one of them knew where they were going, or what they were going
to do. They meant to get Scrubby a tree somehow, and that was all they
knew about it.

At last, Peg said (Peg was a very sensible baby, if she _was_ raveled
out):

"What are we going to do, anyhow?"

"Why, we're going to get a tree for Scrubby," they all answered.

"Well, what kind of a tree?--and where?"

That was a poser. None of them had thought so far as that. At last,
Minx said:

"Why, any kind--somewhere."

"There are plenty of trees in France," said Francaise.

"T