Robin, nothing loth, sat himself down as directed at a side table in the midst of this stirring scene, and the sharp morning air having given him a fine appetite, he lost no time in commencing an attack upon the plentifully heaped plate set before him. It was seldom indeed the poor boy got a chance of fried bacon and potatoes at home for breakfast. Before he had quite finished, he heard the sound of happy voices in the garden mingled with shouts of laughter; and presently two boys with their merry-looking sister chased each other past the kitchen window.
"Have you seen the Christmas tree?" shouted one.
"No; where is it?"
"Here! Old Jonathan has got it round by the kitchen door."
"Oh, what a beauty! Where is mamma? She must come and see It. Won't it look lovely with all the things hung upon it to-night? I wish they would make haste and finish breakfast in the dining room."
"Where did you get such a grand one, Jonathan? And what are you going to do with that branch stuck in a pot?" cried Clarice, laughing.
"That is a Christmas tree for a poor sick child, my little missie. She will never run about as you do, for her legs are no use whatever to her, and the doctor says she cannot get better."
"Oh, I am so sorry for her, Jonathan!"
"She has a kind brother, though," continued Jonathan, "who wants her to have as happy a Christmas as she can, so he has begged this bough from me, and I have found an old pot to put it in. Maybe, miss, among your things in the nursery you can find a broken toy or so and a bit or two of coloured ribbon, if I might make so bold. It will deck it up gay-like for the poor little creature."
"Oh yes, Jonathan, that I will! We have heaps of things that nurse calls rubbish in our toy drawers. I will ask mamma about it. But how shall we send them? You have not told me her name. Where does she live?"