"Why oughtn't we to do it, I wonder?" said Diana musingly. "The people in the Bible talked about God."
"It isn't respectful," said Chris: "rev'rent, I mean. Granny always hushed us about religious things."
"Yes, but Mums talks about them quite easily: she doesn't whisper."
Chris gave it up.
"I only know Noel wouldn't do it if he was amongst a lot of other boys. They'd laugh at him."
"We laugh at him, but he doesn't care."
"He's a most cocky little beggar!"
The Christmas tree almost overshadowed Noel's small garden. It looked strangely out of place there, and would do so even more when surrounded by spring and summer flowers. Chris and Diana, up in the medlar tree the next day, watched Noel standing, hands in pockets, in front of it. A pert saucy robin came and perched on the topmost branch. Noel stood so still that he did not frighten it away, but he commenced to talk to it.
"You're sitting on my tree. I don't know if you know it. I'm a Chris'mas child and the tree is a Chris'mas tree, and we bofe belong to the best day in the whole year, and that's Jesus Christ's birfday and mine. It will take a long time to come this year, for we haven't got to the summer yet, but I'm going to be patient, and as for my tree, he is finking all the time of the wonderful day that's coming to him: the glorious, beautiful day when he'll be dressed from his head to his feet all over with lovely shining fings of glory, and crowds of chil'en and people will be dancing round him and looking up at him as if—as if he was a king. So, Mr. Robin, if you sit on his branches, you must re'mber you're almost sitting on a king!"
"Isn't he a funny boy?" whispered Diana to Chris.