'Oh, how pretty!' said every one. But no one meant the little
French boy, with the velvety short knickerbockers and the velvety
short hair.
What every one admired was a little, little Christmas-tree, very
green, and standing in a very red little flower-pot, and hung round
with very bright little things made of tinsel and coloured paper.
There were tiny candles on the tree, but they were not lighted yet.
'But yes--is it not that it is genteel?' said the lady. 'Sit down
you then, and let us see.'
The children sat down in a row on the stiff chairs against the
wall, and the lady lighted a long, slim red taper at the wood
flame, and then she drew the curtains and lit the little candles,
and when they were all lighted the little French boy suddenly
shouted, 'Bravo, ma tante! Oh, que c'est gentil,' and the English
children shouted 'Hooray!'
Then there was a struggle in the breast of Robert, and out
fluttered the Phoenix--spread his gold wings, flew to the top of
the Christmas-tree, and perched there.
'Ah! catch it, then,' cried the lady; 'it will itself burn--your
genteel parrakeet!'
'It won't,' said Robert, 'thank you.'
And the little French boy clapped his clean and tidy hands; but the
lady was so anxious that the Phoenix fluttered down and walked up
and down on the shiny walnut-wood table.
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