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The Newberry Sun, Newberry, S. C., Thurs., Dec. 25, 1969—SEC. B, PAGE 3 ® SCW.INC. been there all the time or had just come over the brow of the hill. But there he was. A big man, with a big shotgun cradled in his arms. Dad was almost speechless. "I . . . I . . . The kids wanted a real Christmas tree. I didn’t know ... I mean ...” The man pointed over the hill with the shotgun. "Walk up that way."” Dad hesitated. "Maybe we had better go. Mother’s waiting in the car. She might worry, and ...” The man pointed again. "Walk.” We walked. Over the top of the hill and down a lane leading toward a neat frame house nestled among the trees. Halfway there, the man stopped. He pointed the gun toward a nearby tree, perfectly shaped, prettier than any we had seen on the hillside. "Take that one,” he said gruffly. Dad looked puzzled. "Well, really now, I think ...” "Take the tree,” the man in sisted. Dad began cutting the tree and the man continued. "Next year, ask someone about cutting a tree. A man likes to keep his hillside trees. They prevent’ erosion.” He patted me and Billy on the head as he went by. "Merry Christmas, boys.” Dad didn’t waste any time cutting down that tree and we went back down that hill pretty fast. Mother didn’t say anything until we had loaded the tree and were headed homeward. "I see you got away with it,” she said, matter-of-factly. Dad cleared his throat. "Sure, but I got to thinking that, in a way, you’re right. Next year we’ll ask permission if we plan to get a real out door tree. It occurred to me that a farmer might be partial to a particular tree, specially a hillside tree. You know, con servation and erosion, and that sort of stuff. Right, boys?” "Right,” we both responded. And, Tt being Christmas and all, we felt there just wasn’t any reason to say anything else. "We’ll not have an imitation or make-believe tree this year. TTiis year we are going to the woods and get a real old-fash ioned tree.” Sara Laurence, busy put ting a pie into the oven, gave no evidence she had heard her husband’s declaration. Sam was insistent "What do you think of that, Sal, ole gal?” Sara wiped her hands on her apron. "And, just where do you plan to get this tree? Off the state park premises? Do you know any landowners around here? Somebody giving away free trees, for the taking?” Sam laughed. "I’m just talking about one little old Christmas tree. There are woods all over the place a few miles out of town. Who’ll scream if someone cuts one little old tree? I didn’t know what a store-bought tree was when I was a youngster.” "Times have changed,” Sara reminded. "Except for the state park, land is privately owned. What would the owners think and do if everybody in town came out just to get one little old tree ” We were well into the coun try when dad pulled the car off the road and leaned out the window to inspect a nearby hillside. "Aha, I see two or three good trees. Let’s go, gang.” Mother hesitated. "Sam, I don’t think ...” "O.K., worrisome. You stay and watch the car.” Dad started up the hillside, Billy and myself not far behind. Dad looked over a couple of trees. "One’s too small. One’s a little flat on one side. There’s the one we want.” He stopped before the tree, looked it over, and walked carefully around it. His axe was poised when the gruff voice said, "Hold it, there, Mister.” We didn’t know if he had Wik v •m 8 ® H lift v.< x :v:fc.r :* : Xv 'tcGswSk •SBBkl: Nay the spirit of brotherly love illominate every heart and every home at Christmastime. City Filling Station Telephone 276-4395 Newberry, S. C. Friend Street