Stu joined in on the chorus, his voice not as good as Tom’s but mixing well enough to suit the two of them, and the old sweet hymn drifted back and forth in the deep cathedral silence of Christmas morning: “Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel … Christ is born in Israel …” “That’s the only part of it I can remember,” Tom said a little guiltily as their voices drifted away. “It was fine,” Stu said. The tears were close again. It would not take much to set him off, and that would upset Tom. He swallowed them back. “We ought to get going. Daylight’s wasting.” “Sure.” He looked at Stu, who was taking down his
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