“Oh,” cried Arriety. “I know all about Christmas. My mother’s always talking about it. And the feasts they always had. When she was a girl, there were a lot more borrowers in the house, and that was the time–Christmas time–when she first began to notice my father. The feasts! There were things called raisins and crystal fruit and plum puddings and turkey and something called game pie . . . And the wine they left in glasses! My father used to get it out with a fountain-pen filler. He’d be up a fold in the tablecloth almost before the last human bean had left the room. And my mother began to see what a wonderful borrower he might turn out to be. He bought her a little ring out of something called a cracker, and she wore it as a crown . . . ” She fell silent a moment, remembering that ring. Where was it now? she wondered. She had worn it often herself.