'Oh, I wish you hadn't!' said Phyllis; 'I wanted to think what to say first, and now there's no time.'
There certainly was not. The door opened a cautious inch, and a voice said:
'Who's there?'
'It's us,' said Phyllis, 'please. We don't want to pry into your beautiful house like Jane's brother Alf when he asked you for the drink of water, only we've made up a Christmas-tree, and may we stand it in your yard and light it—the candles, I mean?'
The door opened a little further, and a face looked out—the face, of course, of Sir Christopher. All the house that showed through the crack of the door didn't, as Mabel said afterwards, show at all, because it was pitch-dark.
'I don't quite understand,' said Sir Christopher gently. Phyllis was a little surprised to find that the voice was what she called a gentleman's voice.
'We—you were so kind carrying Mab across the road that water-carty day when it thundered'
'Oh, it's you, is it?' he said.
'Yes, it's us; and they wouldn't let us help with the school tree, and so we made one of our own
