'I like the pearly halls best,' said Mabel: 'they're more eloquent;' and they all went down to the room where the seventy-two candles of the Christmas-tree were burning steadily and brightly, though there was no one to see them. 'Won't you call your little girl?' said Phyllis. 'The candles won't last so very long; they're the cheap kind.' Sir Christopher twisted his fingers together. 'It's no use calling her,'he said. 'Would you mind--do you mind leaving the tree for to-night? You could fetch it to-morrow. And you won't tell anyone about the inside of my house, will you? They'd only laugh at it.' 'I don't see how they could,' said Mabel indignantly; 'it's the beautifullest, gorgerest house that ever was.' 'But we won't tell anyone,' said Guy. 'And we'll come again to-morrow--about the same time.' Sir Christopher said, 'Yes, please.' And they all shook hands with him and came away, leaving the Christmas-tree, with all its seventy-two candles, still making the pearly room a dream of fairy beauty. They ran all the way home, because it was rather late, and they did not want the servants to fetch them from the parish schoolroom, where they had not spent the evening. It would have been very difficult to explain exactly where and how they _had_ spent it, and the fact that they had promised not to say anything about it would have added considerably to the difficulty. When they had been let in, and had taken off their hats and jackets and got their breaths, they looked at each other. 'Well?' said Phyllis. 'Yes,' said Mabel; 'what an inciting adventure! What a dear he is! I do hope we shall see his little girl to-morrow.' 'Yes,' said Guy slowly, 'but I don't think we shall.' 'Why ever not?' 'Because I don't believe he's got any little girl. We went into all the rooms, and the hall and landing. There wasn't any other room for the little girl to be in.' 'Perhaps it was really her under the sheet, trying to be ghosts,' said Phyllis. 'It was too high up,' said Mabel. 'She might have been standing on a stool,' said Phyllis. 'Well,' said Guy, with a satisfied look; 'it's a very thrilling mystery.' It was. And it gave them something to think of for the next few days. For that evening when they went to fetch the Christmas-tree, they found the door of Sir Christopher's castle tight shut, and their Christmas-tree was standing alone on the doorstep in the dark. After vainly knocking several times, they put the tree into the wheelbarrow and got it home, only upsetting it three times by the way. When they got it into the light of their schoolroom they saw that there was a piece of paper on it--a note. 'My dears,' it said, 'here is your beautiful tree. Thank you very much. If you knew how much pleasure it had given me you would be glad. Why not give the tree to some poor child? Good-bye. God bless you!' There were some letters tangled together at the bottom of the page. 'His initials, I suppose,' said Guy. But nobody could read them.