88 CHRISTMAS 



will look on the morrow, when we meet to spend 

 Christmas together, united in the wish to have a 

 happy evening, casting dull care away for once in 

 spite of belonging to different families and counties 

 and having only been thrown haphazard together 

 by Fate. Soon all the rooms are decorated, for 

 some one is employed in each strewing red-berried 

 holly upon the old oak and walnut furniture. 



When all is in order and late at night a snug 

 arm-chair induces peaceful, happy thoughts, I 

 hear a shuffling sound of many feet without. The 

 noise increases until at length it would seem that 

 the little house is surrounded by people. Fur- 

 tively I look out, to see if maybe the enemy has 

 surprised us — Are we to be imprisoned by Ger- 

 mans ? I am soon reassured by the notes of 

 11 Noel, Noel," which surely no foreign voice could 

 sing in the essentially Sussex style of the village 

 lads and lasses. 



Even they have had to alter their time-honoured 

 reasons for collecting money, and their leaders ask 

 for extra liberality as the funds will go to the 

 relief of wounded soldiers. This is no self-seeking 

 nocturnal orchestra. The group of singers is 

 made up of generous British hearts wishing to help 

 their fellow-countrymen in the hour of need. 

 When, the carols over, their clear voices ring out 

 with " God Save Our Gracious King," and the 

 spirals of song spread upward in the frosty air and 

 are echoed back again off the high downs, I feel 

 proud with them that we are English people. No 

 bombardments of seaside towns, or bombs dropped 

 here or there, will move us from a steady, un- 



