As a five-year-old，I didn't know how poor we jye.aire.We had just moved to Manhattan and knew no one in that city.My father would not be home that Christmas Eve；he was in the Army serving overseas.My mother，in her 20s，and I worked all afternoon making tree decorations.The kitchen table was crowded with stars，globes，and animals made of shiny paper.
    There was at least a dozen feet of a chain made of colored paper loops.We were going to get the Christmas tree later in the evening，when the prices for them usually dropped.
    Just after sunset，we bundled up against the chilly Manhattan night and walked four blocks to a parking lot where they sold Christmas trees.
    "How much is your cheapest tree？" my mother asked the man standing at the lot entrance.
    He held his gloved hands over the fire in a steel barrel.His brown skin glowed in the flickering. "Thirty dollars，Miss."
    Her smile disappeared."Nothing for less？"
    The man picked up a small tree branch and dropped it into the fire."I just work here，Miss.I can't change the price."
    The sudden sadness in my mother's face made me depressed.
    The man looked down at me for what felt like a long time；it probably was only moments.He pointed at a mound（堆） of branches，the size of a car，in the corner of the lot."See that pile of cuttings？Behind it is a tree that we can't sell，almost a trunk left.You can have it for free."
    "Thank you，" my mother said.She tapped my shoulder.
    "Thank you，sir，"I said.
注意：（1）續(xù)寫詞數(shù)應(yīng)為150左右；
（2）開頭已給出。
Paragraph 1：
    We hurried to the back of the mound.______
Paragraph 2：
    She was smiling again. "Go to sleep now.Santa will decorate the tree for us." ______