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 trepid little soul. May I shake hands?" And he took the little brown hand and held it in his own. "Good for you, Lizzie."

He led her to the stable, where Bill and Lottie were filling the mangers with hay. "Mister Vale, is it true," asked Annie, "that God was born in a stable?"

"Why, yes," said Derek. "It's true."

"Was a manger really his cradle, just like these here ones?"

"Yes. Only it was Jesus, you know, the little one. Not God. At least, not exactly."

"Well, Mister Vale, you lay Buckskin down in the manger and let's see just what a baby in a manger looks like, eh?"

"Ain't they awful?" said Bill.

Derek laid Buckskin in the Welsh pony's manger and held the pony's head to one side. "There you are," he said. They filled the stable with their laughter, and the morning sunlight fell on the sweet-smelling hay, and on Buckskin's blond head and golden brown face.

Annie said: "We'll be the three Wise Men. We'll bring him gifts. I'll bring him this big Northern Spy apple. What'll you bring, Susy?"

"This new egg I jus' find," answered Susy.

"An' you, Lizzie? What'll you give this little Jesus?"

"There's thistles in this hay," said Lizzie of the great dark eyes. "I'll make him a crown o' thorns."

Bill and Lottie, their pitchforks in their hands, stood gazing fascinated. Lottie said: "Last winter we was at a place where them little girls went to Sunday-school all winter. They learned an awful lot of religion. I expect it'll do them the rest of their lives."

Derek had given the Rains a turkey for dinner and he had one to himself. Buckskin sat beside him in his high