It was getting toward Christmas in the valley of Pine Grove. The wise folk said the old woman in the sky was picking her geese, for the Appalachian Mountains lay blanketed with snow. The road wound like white ribbons around the misty blue ridges, tracked by the runners of wagons, sleds, and sleighs. Occasionally an auty-mobile chugged its way through the silence. Across the ocean the Great War raged, but in the valley all was at peace.
It was getting on toward the Christmas Ruthie would never forget. The Christmas when the village almost did not have a Christmas tree. It happened this way. Ruthie told me so ...
It was getting toward Christmas in the valley of Pine Grove. The wise folk said the old woman in the sky was picking her geese, for the Appalachian Mountains lay blanketed with snow. The road wound like white ribbons around the misty blue ridges, tracked by the runners of wagons, sleds, and sleighs. Occasionally an auty-mobile chugged its way through the silence. Across the ocean the Great War raged, but in the valley all was at peace.
It was getting on toward the Christmas Ruthie would never forget. The Christmas when the village almost did not have a Christmas tree. It happened this way. Ruthie told me so ...