Pt. 2 ..."It wasn't easy dragging that tree home. They were handicapped by a boy who ran alongside yelping, "Free ride! All aboard!" who'd jump on and make them drag him along. But he got sick of the game eventually and went away. In a way, it was good that it took them so long to get the tree home. It made their triumph more drawn out. Francie glowed when a lady said, "I never saw such a big tree!" The cop on their corner stopped them, examined the tree, and solemnly offered to buy it for fifteen cents if they'd deliver it to his home. Francis nearly burst with pride although she knew he was joking. They had to call Papa to help them get the tree up the narrow stairs. Papa came running down. His amazement at the size of the tree was flattering...Papa pulled in front and Francie and Neeley pushed in back and they began forcing the big tree up the two narrow flights of stairs. Papa started singing, not caring that it was rather late at night. He sang, "Holy Night! ." The narrow walls took his clear sweet voice, held it for a breath and gave it back with doubled sweetness. Doors creaked open and families gathered on the landings, pleased and amazed that something unexpected was being added to that moment in their lives. Francie saw the Tynmore sisters, who gave piano lessons, standing together in their doorway, their gray hair in crimpers, and ruffled, starched nightgowns showing under their voluminous wrappers. They added their thin poignant voices to Papa's. Floss Gaddis, her mother and her brother, Henny, who was dying of consumption, stood in their doorway...They set the tree up in the front room afer Mama had spread a sheet to protect the carpet from falling pine needles. The tree stood in a big tin bucket with broken bricks to hold it upright. When the rope was cut away, the branches spread out to fill the room. They draped over the piano and some of the chairs stood among the branches. There was no money to buy decorati! ons or lights. But the great tree standing there was enough. The room was cold. It was a poor year, that one -- too poor for them to buy the extra coal for the front-room stove. The room smelled cold and clean and aromatic. Every day, during the week the tree stood there, Francie put on her sweater and stocking cap and went in and sat under the tree. She was there and enjoyed the smell and dark greenness of it. Oh, the mystery of a great tree, a prisoner in a tin wash bucket in a tenement front room!" -- Excerpt, from "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn," Betty Smith