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chest.
    “Did ’e say as summink ’ad ’appened ter Uncle Alf?” Minnie Maude asked.
    “’e di’n’t rightly know,” Gracie said honestly. “But ’e reckoned as it were bad, cos o’ them takin’ the cart, an’ all.” She lowered her voice. “MinnieMaude, ’e said as ’e thought the golden box were a casket, an’ could be summink really important, an’ mebbe that’s why Uncle Alf were killed. ’e said as we shouldn’t go on lookin’ fer it, in case we get ’urt as well.”
    “But wot about Charlie?” Minnie Maude asked.
    “’e said as donkeys are useful, so they’ll prob’ly look after ’im, feed ’im, an’ give ’im somewhere ter stay.” She remembered Mr. Balthasar’s face as he had said it, the dark, sad look in his eyes. She had seen that look before. He did not mean it. He had said it to comfort her. Now she was saying it again, to comfort Minnie Maude.
    Minnie Maude stared in front of her. “’s all right,” she said quietly. “Yer don’t ’ave ter look fer Charlie. I un’erstand.”
    “I di’n’t say I weren’t gonna look fer ’im!” Gracie retorted with indignation. “I’m jus’ tellin’ yer wot ’e said!”
    Minnie Maude raised her eyes very slowly, bright with hope.
    Gracie could have kicked herself, but there was no escape. “We gotta think fast,” she warned.
    “It’s cold,” Minnie Maude replied, as if it were the natural thing to say. “Let’s go over inter the ’ay.” And without waiting for agreement, she tucked her skirt up again and crawled back into the dark, rich-smelling crowded space in the corner. She went into it headfirst, then swiveled around, and a moment later her face appeared and she smiled encouragingly, a long wisp of hay behind her ear.
    Gracie had no dignified choice but to follow her. She tucked her skirts up also and crawled across the space to the bales, then pushed her way in, twisted around, and sat down. It was prickly, but it smelled nice, and it brought back dim memories of the past, of being in the country, long ago. She imagined in time it would be quite warm where they were, compared with the stone floor below.
    “Summink really important,” Minnie Maude said thoughtfully. “S’pose it would ’ave ter be, terput it in a casket, an’ all.” She sat motionless, her eyes very wide. “D’yer think it’s magic?”
    “What?”
    “Magic,” Minnie Maude repeated, her voice hushed with awe.
    “Wotever put that inter yer ’ead, yer daft little article?” Gracie demanded. “In’t no such thing.” Then the minute she had said it, she wished she hadn’t. Minnie Maude was only eight. Gracie should have let her have a year or two more of dreams.
    “There’s Christmas,” Minnie Maude whispered, her eyes brimming with tears.
    Gracie struggled desperately to retrieve the loss. “That in’t magic,” she answered. “That’s… that’s God. It’s diff’rent.”
    Minnie Maude blushed. “Is it?”
    “Course it is.” Gracie’s mind was whirling like the wind.
    Minnie Maude waited, staring at her.
    “Magic don’t ’ave rules,” Gracie explained. “An’bad people can do it as well as good. It in’t always nice. Wot God does is always nice, even if it don’t look much like it at the time.”
    “’ow d’yer know?” Minnie Maude asked reasonably.
    Gracie was not going to be careful this time. “I dunno,” she admitted. “I jus’ know.”
    “Is it an ’oly casket?” Minnie Maude asked her.
    “Wot would an ’oly casket be doin’ out in the street fer a rag an’ bone man ter pick up?” Gracie tried to put the conversation back into some kind of reality.
    “Jesus were born in a stable,” Minnie Maude pointed out. “Like wot we’re in.”
    “This is a dovecote,” Gracie replied.
    “It’s a stable downstairs, cos Charlie lived in it.” Minnie Maude sniffed.
    Gracie felt an overwhelming helplessness. She longed to be able to comfort Minnie Maude, but did not know how to. “Yer right,”