get for Christmas?" asked Perry.

John allied himself instantly with Sid in the effort to outboast the new
arrivals.

"Sid's got a sure enough gun," he said impressively. "Bigger'n I am."

"And John's got an electric motor," chimed in Sid as John finished.
"He's going to hitch it on his his new sled with a pair of oars, and go
rowing over the snow when snow comes. My, but it's strong!"

"We've got a Christmas tree," spoke up Silvey.

"So've we," said John.

"So've we," Perry added.

"But mine's bigger'n any of yours," Bill insisted. "It's so big, we most
had to cut a hole in the ceiling to set it up. And wide? It's so wide I
can hardly get in the room with it."

"'Tain't," exclaimed John incredulously. "Nothing can be bigger'n ours."

"Come and see," was Silvey's unanswerable retort. So the quartette
trooped up the street to "come and see."

On their way, they passed the postman, struggling under his load of
Christmas packages. Not only was his leather sack packed to overflowing
with mail, but a little cart which he dragged behind him on the walk
also held its quota of letters and gifts.

"Merry Christmas!" the boys called to him. He was a genial soul, not in
the least like the evil-tempered crank who had held the route the year
before.

He smiled back at them, for he had just been given a seventh necktie
which a family had decided was too hideous to be worn by the original
recipient, and was in high spirits.

"Any mail for us?" came the chorus of inquiry.

He fingered the mail in his sack. "Here you are, young Fletcher! Catch!"

"From my aunt," announced John proudly as he looked at the postmark.
"She always sends me jim-dandy things for Christmas." He ripped the
protecting envelope away and stared in amazement at the two
white-crocheted squares in his hand.

"Washrags, washrags!" jeered the boys. For once, Aunt Clara had followed
the haphazard suggestion at the end of his letter and had sent something
useful.

[Illustration: _"Washrags, washrags."_]

He jammed the offending gifts into his pocket, and sought to change the
subject.

"Come on, Silvey, let's see that big tree of yours." So they stamped up
the Silvey front steps and into the house.

"There," said Bill, pointing proudly at the family fir.

John gave one disgusted glance. "That? Why that's set on a little table!
Wouldn't come near the ceiling if it was on the floor. Come down to my
house and I'll show you a _real_ tree."

They le