Good evening. Welcome to the Just Sleep podcast. I'm Tasia, your host.

Every week, I will read you an old story to help you relax of the stressful day behind you and drift off to sleep.

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Tonight, I will be reading for more information.

Tonight, I will be reading The Christmas Thief by Frank Howell Evans.

So lie down, close your eyes, and let me read you a story.

Well, let's go and see that the diner room's nicely decorated.

And if the turkeys ought arrived, I shall give that poultry beans.

And the plum pudding must be nicely set a light.

Come along, Harry. Two boys stood at the top of Marshall Street, which ran from the strand down to the embankment, tall, well-set up, good-looking lads of 16 and 17 years of age, one with dark curly hair and firm, well-set-up, good-looking lads of sixteen and seventeen years of age, one with dark curly hair

and firm, well-set features, a little taller than the other, a fair complexion boy, with close-cropped

reddish hair, a snub-nose, round chin, and a comical mouth. It was the latter who had spoken

of attending to the decorations of the dining room,

and the darker one turned to him with a smile, as he tightly buttoned his thin, shabby coat

around his broad, well-shaped frame. There's nothing like looking on the funny side of things,

is there, Tommy, he said. But personally speaking, I don't quite see the humor of Christmas

Day on the embankment, with a free ticket for soup and a seat afterwards on the bench to warm our

hands in front of the Thames, which, by the way, looks as if it were going to be frozen over.

Well, Cheropold's Sport, was the reply.

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