midday
Just as you like ! Have it your own way . It is even so with the Old Year in his last hours . Is ever an October so chill that he may not bid you suddenly at midday to come out in the garden and recall , with him , what it was like in those Spring days when the first birds sang ; those Summer days when the hay-scent was in Cheapside , and a great many roses had not been eaten by blights , and it was too hot to mow the lawn ? Is ever a November so self-centred as to refuse to help the Old Year to a memory of the gleams of April , and the nightingale 's first song about the laggard ash-buds ? Is icy December 's self so remorseless , even when the holly-berries are making a parade of their value as Christmas decorations ? -- even when it 's not much use pretending , because the Waits came last night , and you thought , when you heard them , what a long time ago it was that a little boy or girl , who must have been yourself , was waked by them to wonder at the mysteries of Night ?