WHEN Alice slipped through the mirror into the looking glass world, she found hardly more miraculous changes than we did when we arrived in the north country the day before Christmas. The morning crackled with cold as our three-car train—a baggage car, a day coach and one Pullman sleeper-huffed and puffed into the station. The sun was peering over the eastern horizon, looking weak and inadequate to heat up such a frosty world.

While we slept the world had undergone metamorphosis. From our Pullman window the night before we had looked at the clustered houses and blinking lights of the city. Through the same window at dawn we saw the silent forests of cedars, balsams and pines silhouetted against the morning glow. Everywhere lay the glistening white carpet of snow spread by nature to protect her solitude, softening even the tread of the winds.

The train came to a squeaky and jerky stop. Our porter helped us to the platform, then deserted us as quickly as he could within the bounds of courtesy. "It sure is cold !" he said, his hand shaking so he could hardly accept the remembrance I offered him.

"A merry Christmas to you l" I said. His teeth chattered so much that his response sounded very little like "same to you," though I am sure that is what he tried to say. He was constituted for other climes. As soon as he could, he shut the Pullman door, waved through the window a good-by accompanied by a sort of "you-poor-things" expression, and hastened to sit on a steam pipe.

Giny and I looked about us with joy. The little town was all huddled up, packed in cotton for the winter. Windows were thick with frost. Graceful plumes of vaporous smoke reached upward from the chimneys. Streets were paved with hardened snow and the borders of sidewalks were lined with high drifts formed by snow shovels.

Our train was late and so were the friends who were to meet us. Being late makes no difference in this country, however. There is plenty to do but the tasks can be done at one time as well as another.

We took our bags and walked toward the station. The snow creaked musically under our feet. No other passengers had left the train. The light clean air delighted our lungs and frost took playful nips at our noses and cheeks.

Up forward there was much activity. Our engine was enveloped in a cloud of steam. The engineer in the cab looked at his watch and then glared critically at the men who were unloading a consignment of express from the baggage car.

"What are you lookin' at that thing for?" the station agent called to him. "You're never on time nohow."

"Wanted to see how many hours it takes you to do five minutes' work" came the answer.

"Ever read your timetable?" the other pursued his point. "It'd surprise you. You were supposed to be here fifty-five minutes ago. What do you do—go huntin' every morning?"

"I was on time once," drawled the engineer. "Wasn't nobody round. I had to sit here till you got up, dressed and had your breakfast before you'd come down and get the mail. I might as well play along and watch the scenery. It's better to look at than your homely face. How cold is it?"

"Twenty below—according to my nose."

"Can't go by that thing. It's always sticking in somebody's business. What does the thermometer say?"

"Fífteen below, but it's busted, I think. Ever since the time it touched fifty-four below it won't work right."

"Fifty-four below! By your nose?"

"Didn't have any nose that day—it was just an icicle," said the agent, sniffing in memory of the record cold wave.

"Well, too bad you didn't winterkill," said the engineer unsympathetically. "Where's Lem these days?"

"He's loggin'-over in Forest County."

"Where's big Steve?"

"Loggin'-up in Michigan."

"Where is your boy?"

"Road buildin' up in Alaska."

The engineer rubbed the cold from his cheeks. "Seems like everyone works round here 'cept you," he commented. "Come on, get the frost out of your joints and unload them sacks. You can't be as dead as you act."

"What do you care?" was the saucy answer. 'You're goin' no place and you got all day to do it."

The bantering went on. Giny and I walked away stamping our feet and clapping our hands to encourage circulation. The cold was creeping through our garments. We rubbed our cheeks and noses too. While this is a dry cold and therefore not raw or chilling, it is quick-freezing.

Now came a car squeaking on the crusted snow, honking, radiator steaming. The windows were almost completely covered with thick frost. Two small circles on the windshield had been scraped clear. Out of these openings peered the laughing eyes of our friends Ray, Ada and June. All were calling a merry welcome.

The car stopped and a door opened. Out came the funniest-looking something or other we had seen in a long time. It was like a large stuffed doll—or perhaps overstuffed is the better word. It half tumbled from the car and stood for a moment facing us. I guess it was facing us, for it was difficult to determine whether it was coming or going. I never saw more woolen clothes in one small spot before—woolen breeches, woolen coat, woolen mittens and a huge woolen scarf topped by a woolen stocking cap. Presently from somewhere in this mound of clothing came a muffed little voice, "Hello, Tham Cammel and Mithuth Cammel."

"Hi-Bub!" I cried, as Giny and I ran to him. "Are you down in there somewhere? Come on out where we can see you!"

We unwound a yard or two of scarf, to reveal the beaming face of our fine lad. The others alighted from the car now, and there was a general outburst of greetings that made the trainmen cease their work and look our way.

"June, come here," I exclaimed to the girl who was standing near. "How you have grown! You are more beautiful than ever. Let me look at you."

"Yeth ! Let me look too !" interposed Hi-Bub, as he thrust his way directly in front of the laughing girl. His eyes sparkled the same way they did when he saw Cheer. "You're a thwell girl," he said with feeling.

June just flashed a smile that sparkled like the snow in the morning sun.

"I'll tell you why we were late," explained Ray and Ada as we gripped their hands. "Hi-Bub was so anxious to come to the train that we stopped for him. They had about three layers of clothes on him and we waited until several more were put on. Then the heater in our car stopped working and the windows frosted over. It has been an exciting morning."

"I wuth gonna bring Hobo," shouted Hi-Bub, trying to talk above the general babble. "Only he didn't want to come. You thee he duthn't know you very well yet."

We vowed we would win the affections of Hobo so he would be on the reception committee on our next trip. The excited conversation continued while we loaded our baggage. Just as we were about to start we paused a moment to hear the finals of the téte-á-téte between the engineer and station agent. The engineer had backed the train slightly to release the brakes. That was all his sparring partner needed.

"Now that's what I been a-tellin' you " the agent yelled. 'You don't know which one of them gadgets to push. You're a-goin' the wrong way. You can't get anywhere doin' that. Why don't you get a wheelbarrow—something you know how to run?"

"Course I only been doin' this thirty-five years," called the other.

"Some folks never learn nothin'!"

"Aw, go back to your hibernatin' with the rest of the skunks," said the engineer, making the wheels of the engine spin. "I'll see you in the morning."

"You’ll never get back in one day the way you're a-goin'," taunted the agent, trying to be heard above the noise of escaping steam. "You’ll get mixed up and end in Lake Superior. What you need there is an engineer. You can shovel coal all right but-- "

The engineer ended the conversation with a couple of toots and a wave of the hand, while the agent turned chuckling to his work.

We closed the car doors and headed for home and breakfast. There was a short stop at Hi-Bub's house. We paused to greet his parents, and of course to meet Hobo.

The latter was just the kind of dog I expected. He was one hundred-percent pure mongrel, and didn't care. He was a small dog with big ambitions. There was no question but that he planned to run the whole town. His color was hard to describe. I had never seen such a mess on any paint card. One ear stood up; the other folded down to give him a sort of "hat-on-the-side-of-the-head" appearance. There was a black spot over one eye that made him seem always to be winking. His tail was unreasonably long and so curled it almost completed a second loop. Hobo wasn't trained. He didn't know anything about sitting up or shaking hands. But he was a bundle of energy, and reports indicated that he was minding everybody's business except his own from morning until night.

"I hope we will be friends, Hobo," I said, stroking his head.

At that moment he discovered another dog about a block away and left us all without even a bark for goodbye.

"Surely we will see you again during our visit, HiBub," said Giny as we were taking our leave.

"You thure will, Mithuth Cammel," said the boy confidently.

"Are there plans afoot?" I asked.

All of them laughed. "Indeed there are plans afoot," said Ada. "Hi-Bub has arranged to have his Christmas at home today. Then tomorrow he is to be with us for our Christmas. Won't that be fun?"

"Marvelous!" I exclaimed. "Hi-Bub, you are a schemer. Two Christmases in one year—what a manager you turned out to be!"

AT THE home of our fine hosts, over buckwheat pancakes and farm sausage, we talked of Christmas plans.

"Are we really going to have an old-fashioned Christmas?" I asked.

Yes, we were going to have an old-fashioned Christmas. A turkey almost the size of an ostrich hung on the back porch. There were to be stuffing, cranberry sauce, plum pudding, black walnuts, too many vegetables, presents galore, excitement and exhaustion for everyone.

"What, no sleigh bells?" I teased. Yes, some way or other there would be sleigh bells.

"Marvelous!" I said. "And may Giny and I go into the kitchen and help with the preparations?"

This was a test all right. Not many of the best of friends want you in their kitchens. But even this privilege was not too much to ask of Ada and Ray. Yes, we could go into the kitchen. In fact, they had anticipated that Giny would bake the pies. I could put on a white apron and a chefs cap, and get in everyone's way while I made the dressing, mashed the potatoes, spilled the gravy and sampled everything I could reach.

"And are we going to put the food right on the table in big dishes, and set the turkey out where everyone can watch it carved?" I asked, thinking of the hotel dinners where one never sees the fowl until it comes in thinly sliced, draped like blankets over a small mound of dressing.

Yes, the food would be right on the table, and the carving of the turkey a public spectacle. In fact, plans were that I should do the carving !

"Blessings upon blessings," I declared. "I'm going to sit in that big chair now and indulge in the joy of anticipation."

"Indeed you will not!" interposed Ada. "You and Ray have work to do—important work. Today you must go out into the woods and get our Christmas tree, then put it up and trim it. Giny and I have a big job to do on the turkey. Now have another pancake, and then let's get busy. Christmas is no time to rest, especially if it is to be an old-fashioned Christmas."

Breakfast over, Ray and I mounted our snowshoes and headed out into the forest in quest of a Christmas tree. The atmosphere was light and invigorating, and it put energy into our pace. Little showers of hardened snow flakes flew ahead of our strides, making the soft musical sound known and loved by those who travel in winter's solitude.

We had gone very little distance, however, when we heard a voice calling to us, "Wait a minute, you two please!" We halted and looked around to see June coming after us, swinging her half-sized snowshoes like a veteran. "Mother said I had better go along," she said as she drew near. "She's afraid you might get lost if you go alone."

"Snowshoeing in the brush is tough, young lady," I said doubtfully. "We would love your charming company, if you can stand the pace."

"Don't worry about her," said Ray, unmistakable pride in his words and laugh. "Likely it will bother you and me to keep up with her."

Laughing and tossing her pretty head, June started out. I realized she needed no sympathy. Her stride was perfect. This little lady had been raised in the forest. She grew up accustomed to its ways and its demands. Her mannerisms reflected the influence of nature. I noted how easy, patient and unhurried were her movements. With wisdom born of much experience she selected the best route through the forest with its many obstacles. She had taken the silence of wilderness into her very character. While the expression in her eyes showed deep happiness and keen appreciation of her surroundings, her words were few. Obviously she loved to be alone. While Ray and I looked about for our Christmas tree, she went far ahead, circling and reappearing to us at most unexpected places.

In prospect the task of getting a Christmas tree in that country seemed easy. The forest was filled with numberless balsam trees and black spruce. We had told Giny and Ada that we would be gone only a few minutes. Our instructions were to bring in a big tree—not too tall, for the ceiling was low—but it must have a wide spread.

We found one such tree within ten minutes' walk from the house. However, it was near the roadside and Ray suggested that it would look beautiful there the year around, so why destroy it for just a few hours of pleasure?

At the edge of a large swamp we found a beautiful spruce of medium height, whose branches spread widely. Ray took the ax in hand and surveyed the tree for a moment.

"Been growing here about twenty years," he commented, stroking a branch admiringly. "I remember when it wasn't knee-high."

June had come up that moment and stood looking at the tree with an expression of regret on her face. "It looks mighty pretty there, doesn't it?" she said.

"Sure does," agreed her father. "Let's take a look for a balsam over on that hillside. Balsam will last longer indoors anyway."

So over to the hillside we went. There were some beautiful balsam trees there. Ray picked out one with thick foliage and advanced toward it with the ax.

"That tree has produced a lot of seeds," I commented, noticing the cone stems on the upper branches. "It's mighty useful in reforesting this area."

"That's right," said Ray, looking about for another prospect. "This was a bad fire area in here, and these balsam trees have helped a lot by growing so fast. Let's see what's on the other side of the hill."

On the other side of the hill were some especially fine trees, and almost any one of them might have met our requirements. But in each case there was some excuse to withhold the ax. One had a bird's nest in it, and it was possible the bird might come back in the spring. Another that grew close to the ground furnished shelter with its lower branches to a rabbit, and it didn't seem just fair to take that one. Still another showed the scars left by a wild cat as the creature stood sharpening its claws like a domestic cat.

"We wouldn't want to take that," said Ray. "It's nice to come on such things when you are hiking. Anyway, these are needed on this hillside to prevent erosion. Let's go on into that flat country. There must be some good ones there."

There were some good trees in the flat country, but again we found one excuse after another for not cutting them. So it was with the big swamp which Ray wanted to visit. There were some beautiful spruce on a little island in the center of that lowland.

"But they look downright pretty there," Ray insisted. "I'd hate to take one of those. Anyway, that makes good shelter for the deer in hunting season. I saw an old buck lie down in that thicket and stay there in spite of the fact that hunters were searching all around him. Let's see if we can find a tree nearer home—maybe one that the wind has blown over or something."

During all this time June held to her silence, except for a soft little laugh each time Ray and I found an excuse not to cut a tree. She had made many detours to one side or the other of our route, and probably had traveled twice the distance we had. Yet she showed not the least fatigue.

As we walked away from the big swamp my snowshoe caught in a tiny spruce that was nearly buried in the snow. The impact sent me tumbling, and my shoe pulled up the tree, which was only about twelve inches high. No one seemed concerned in the least about my fall. Both June and Ray looked sympathetically at the uprooted tree.

"That's a cute little fellow," said Ray as he picked it up. He and June tried to fit it into the ground again, but it wouldn't stay. Ray carried it along, when I was organized to travel again, holding it up and admiring its growth. "At least four years old," he declared. "Still we destroy it in about ten seconds. Here—let this be a reminder to watch where you step." He forced the roots into my coat collar.

"Now you have been crowned Chief Spruce-in-the-Neck," laughed June.

I let the tree stay where it was as we snow shoed-homeward.

Suddenly, to our surprise, we emerged on the road not far from Ray's house. We had been gone three hours and were returning without a tree.

"We're on a spot," said Ray, anticipating the reaction we would meet at home. "What do we do now?"

"Hm-m-m, hm-m-m," said June, with a significant flash of her dark eyes.

Giny and Ada heard us removing our snowshoes outside the kitchen door.

"It certainly took you a long time to get a tree in woods that are made of trees," Ada called. "Bring it in right away. We must get busy with our trimming."

Ray and I walked in with sheepish looks on our faces.

"Bring in the tree!" exclaimed Ada with good-natured impatience.

"We did."

"Where is it?"

"Here!" said Ray, and he brought from behind his back our twelve-inch spruce. "Isn't it a beauty? We accidentally pulled it up when we stumbled on it. It would look grand on the table."

Giny and Ada know us pretty well. They stood regarding us with crooked smiles, hands on hips, and toes patting the floor ominously.

"Aw, we didn't want to cut those trees," Ray began. "Why, it takes about twenty years to grow a tree the size and shape you wanted. Then just one stroke with the ax and all the growth is gone...."

But Giny and Ada had reached for the little spruce. "It's a dandy," said Giny stroking its clustered branches. "It would decorate beautifully."

"All right," said Ada resignedly. "June, please get me a flower pot to put it in."

"Mother," said June quietly as she started away.

"Yes, dear."

"Men are funny, aren't they?"