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Good evening. Tonight, to get us in the festive spirit for the run-up to Christmas, I'll

be reading Twonette and the Elves, a short story by Susan Coolidge, read from the children's

book of Christmas stories. So let your eyes fall heavy and your breath soften as we set

on. For a peaceful night's sleep. The winter sun was nearing the horizon's edge.

Each moment the tree shadows grew longer in the forest. Each moment the crimson light

on the upper boughs became more red and bright. It was Christmas Eve, or would be in half

an hour when the sun should be fairly set. But it did not feel like Christmas Eve. For

the afternoon was mild and sweet and the wind in the leafless boughs sang as it moved

about as though to imitate the vanished birds. Soft trills and whistles, odd little shakes

and twitters. It was astonishing what pretty noises the wind made. For it was in good humour

as winds should be on the blessed night. All its storm tones and bass tones were for

...