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 her from a distance. She was so much in earnest that it seemed a pity to disappoint her. Mr. Mistletoe sent Christopher indoors for the big pair of scissors. They cut off the loose end, and then kept away at a polite distance. Sure enough, the thrush flew down from the tree where she had been watching, seized the ribbon, and flew off, so much excited, she forgot to say Thank you. And a few moments later, there she was again, hauling at the rest of the tape as hard as ever.

Perhaps it was generous of Mr. Mistletoe, or perhaps it was merely silly, but to see how much tape the thrush would use he sacrificed his whole deck tennis court. He hasn't played deck tennis since. There must have been two hundred feet of tape, but they cut it all up into pieces and she took every bit. It was a great afternoon for her. She must have thought she had found a tapemine. So that the stout thrush wouldn't even have to stoop, Mr. Mistletoe hung all the tapes on the Nervous Prostration wire that runs between two trees. She flew busily to and fro, carrying the streamers to the oak tree on the other side of the house.

The kittens, of course, knew about the Nervous