Carol, carol joyfully!
Carol for the coming of Christ’s nativity!
Go ye to the forest
Where the myrtles grow,
Where the pine and laurel bend beneath the snow!
Gather them for Jesus,
Wreathe them for his shrine,
Make his temple glorious with the box and vine!
Now there is dead silence in the nursery which soon is filled with a strange light made up of hearth-glow, moon-beam and the blueness that only comes from fairyland. For the first time you notice that the Children have hung their stockings from the mantelpiece. Then you see, asleep on the hearthrug, three small brown beings, each cuddling a broom, by which token you know them to be the Good Little People who make their home with happy Children, called Lobs for short, though if ever you address one by his full title you’ll say Lob-Lie-By-The-Fire.
First Lob.