There was a knock on the door.

At the time, I was helping my cousin erect his Christmas tree. His wife was lending moral support by playing on her phone, occasionally pausing to administrate.

“Can you answer the door?” asked my cousin.

I opened the door. There were five or six children on the porch. They were dressed in warm clothes. One girl wore a furry hand-warmer. Another boy wore an oversized stocking cap. One kid’s sweatshirt read, “Dear Santa, less junk from the Dollar Store this year, please?”

“Can I help you?” I said.

“God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,” they sang. Their mothers were on the sidewalk, videoing with phones. The kids sang two verses, although technically, not at the same time.

“No Girl Scout cookies?” I said.

“Would you like to hear another song?” said the spokeschild.

“You know any Skynyrd?”

“How about ‘Angels We Have Heard On High?’”

They sang beautifully. Then, they followed it up with “Away in a Manger.” My cousin happened to have some leftover Halloween candy in a bowl. I offered candy, but the kids refused, since their little brother can’t have any. He’s a diabetic. Although this was not his main illness.

Instead, they told me they were raising money for Saint Jude Children’s Research Hospital. The youngest choral member presented a repurposed baby-wipe container—a plastic cylinder with a slot in the top labeled, “Donations.” You could put coins, cash, or checks inside. “And my mom takes Venmo,” he added.

My, but times have changed.

The kids are doing this on their own because one of their little brothers spent a long time in the hospital—he’s the one who can’t have sugar. His life was saved by doctors at Saint Jude.

In case your were wondering, Saint Jude sees 8,600 kids per year. From all 50 states. They have 77 beds for those needing hospitalization. They have 5000 employees and counting. It takes a lot of money to save lives.

At the moment, Little Brother was in an oversized stroller, pushed by his mother. He was bundled in a watch cap and a thick winter coat. He had a tube in his nose.

I asked how many miles they had covered today.

“My phone says we’ve walked six miles,” said someone’s mom.

That’s a lot of walking, I pointed out, and it’s not exactly tropical weather. It’s been so cold, each night my teeth have been rattling in the glass beside my bed.

They said they originally started their fundraising by standing in front of a store, singing carols. But after two days, they raised only eleven dollars.

“Mostly, people just smiled at us and kept walking,” said Mom. “Like we weren’t even there.”

Then Older Brother held out the baby-wipe container and rattled it. It sounded a little light. I put something in it. It was a pittance, but all I had. Meantime, I thought of all those Salvation Army bell-ringers who stand before Walmarts and Targets and Piggly Wigglys, freezing their hindparts off. And how hordes of pedestrians walk past them on a daily basis, avoiding eye contact, or simply not paying attention. Pedestrians like me.

“Is your little brother okay?” I asked.

“He’s doing better,” said the kid. “I’m just glad he’s not in the hospital this Christmas. Santa’s great about visiting the hospital, but it’s not the same when you’re in there.”

They sang a closing chorus of “We Wish You A Merry Christmas,” and they were gone, down the street.

“Merry Christmas,” I said to them.

Little Brother waved at me from his stroller. “It really is,” he said.