Albany, New York
December 24, 1973

The rhythmic tick-tock-tick-tock of the old mantle clock seemed to echo loudly in the high-ceilinged parlor/library as Daniel tiptoed through the double doors, carefully sliding them closed behind him. The mop-headed, bespectacled boy stood in the darkness for a moment listening, scanning the room. Then closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the door, he breathed a soft sigh of relief. Thus far, he had encountered no one. A few moments more and his prize would be in his grasp. He just needed to wait until the pounding of his heart dropped in volume beneath the ticking of the clock.

The room was huge, by far the largest in a house that was itself large and old, but in reasonably good repair. Once a stylishly furnished residence for the moderately well to do, it was now more functional than fashionable, but here and there -- the intricate carvings in the stone fireplace, the decorative moldings circling this room where the walls met the ceiling -- there remained traces of a more gloried past. A past that was long forgotten, save for a few weeks each December when, adorned with garlands of holly and ivy, red ribbons and bows, candles, red flowers and twinkling lights, the sleeping spirit of the old house awakened.

The focal point of the room was, without doubt, the 10-foot tall blue spruce tree tucked neatly in the curve of the large bay window that faced the Albany residential street. Decorated with an abundance of multicolored lights, gold and silver balls, red bows, holly sprigs and garlands of tinsel, the tree was the pride and joy of Mrs. Pennywell, the middle-aged, somewhat overweight, always overwrought lady who managed the Taylor Street Home.

It wasn't too bad here, Daniel had to admit. He'd been brought here a little over a week ago, and this group home housed fewer children than the big, cold, gray-walled institution where he'd first been taken. He'd stayed there a little over two months, as best he could recall. The first few weeks he had had a very warped sense of time. It seemed to move both achingly slow and blink-of-an-eye fast all at the same time. Most of what he remembered about that orphanage in the city were just flashes of images and impressions, cold and impersonal; all he truly recalled of that place was feeling numb and scared and alone.

So very alone.

Finally calm enough to resume his mission, Daniel silently made his way across the room, with only the illumination from the tree to guide him. But he already knew precisely where he was headed. He'd been in the room that afternoon with Mrs. Pennywell, the young man in the gray uniform she called Bobby, and Miss Helen, the nurse. They had been alternately talking to him and about him, but he hadn't been able to concentrate on the conversations. His mind was spinning at the sight of all the books -- long walls, floor to ceiling, filled with nothing but books. It was glorious! He'd started to wander closer, but Bobby had put a hand on his shoulder to hold him in place. That hadn't stopped his eyes from scanning the titles on the shelves nearest him. That's when he'd seen it. He knew they wouldn't let him look at it, but he just had to. So the plan for this evening's mission had been born.

He'd made it across the floor, past the fireplace and the tree, and now stood at the foot of the polished oak ladder that was built to slide along a rail on the book-filled wall. He just had to shift it a little bit to the left...

The squeak of the wheels on the rail above his head was so loud he jumped back a good yard and a half. Losing his balance in his haste, he fell, his rear impacting the thinning rug with a heavy thump. His eyes flew toward the door; he was almost certain someone would have heard and he would be discovered. After a few moments, however, the hallway was still silent, so he clambered to his feet and again approached the ladder. There was no way he was going to risk moving it again, so taking a deep breath, he grabbed hold of one rung, planted his foot on another, and started to climb, fixing his focus on the rows of books before him, careful not to look down at how far he was above the floor.

Daniel didn't like heights. It hadn't always been that way. He used to be such an adventurous little boy, afraid of nothing. But once when he was about four years old, he'd slipped away from his mom and dad while they were busy talking to some stranger who was visiting their dig site, and he'd climbed up on the rock face of the tomb they'd been excavating. He was almost to the top when the stone beneath his foot crumbled and he'd tumbled down with it. He could still feel the searing pain in his broken arm and see the blood -- his blood -- so much blood on the stones...

Daniel's hands tightened on the rung of the ladder as he firmly shoved that memory out of his mind. He didn't want to think of blood. Other, more recent, red-tinged memories were too close to the surface of his thoughts. He couldn't let them break through. Not now. Not ever.

Forcing his eyes open, he took a deep, shaky breath and, concentrating on his current goal, resumed his climb. When finally he judged he had climbed high enough, he leaned to the left and peered at the dark row of shelved volumes. He could see the one he was after. The cover was beige with dark brown lettering down the spine that read "Tombs and Temples: A Pictorial Guide to the Wonders of Egypt."

Shuffling his feet as close to the side rail as he could, Daniel shifted his weight, holding tight to the rung with his right hand as he reached out with his left. His fingers skimmed across the spines of other books, cloth bindings, some laminated, one that felt like leather. As tempting as it was to grab one of them, open it up and discover what was inside, he forced himself to concentrate on that one book that he just had to have. It was so far to reach. The ladder creaked, and he had to will himself not to look down. Determination won out over fear, and leaning precariously far from his grip on the ladder, his fingers finally touched the prize. Just a little further... Got it! His fingers closed on the spine and he began to pull it out, but as he cleared the edge of the shelf, the unexpected weight of the book was suddenly too much for the tenuous grasp of his small fingertips and it slipped out, striking the floor with a bang much louder than Daniel's earlier fall.

A few seconds later, the light in the hallway came on. Instantly, Daniel scrambled down the ladder. As he grabbed for the book, he could hear voices. The owner of one of them he recognized: Mrs. Pennywell. Clutching the book to his chest, his eyes flashed around the room, frantically searching for a place to hide. He was too far away to reach sanctuary behind the long sofa near the back wall. The voices were almost at the door. He'd never make it. There was only one choice. Moving as fast as his trembling legs would carry him, he headed for the Christmas tree, dropping to the floor and scurrying beneath the lower branches, he curled up in the small space between the tree and the window. Just as he tucked his legs beneath him and silently prayed that the thick branches would hide him, he heard Mrs. Pennywell flip the switch near the door and the lamps on the other side of the room came on.

"Strange, I could have sworn that noise came from in here."

The voice that replied was deep and masculine. "Nothing appears to be out of place. Possibly an ornament fell off your tree."

Daniel's heart pounded harder as the man's voice came closer. He could hear his footfalls against the rug just a few feet away. Tightening his arms around his book, he closed his eyes in a totally irrational hope that if he couldn't see, he wouldn't be seen.

"Perhaps I should..." Mrs. Pennywell began.

"I'm sure it will be easier to see in the daylight. I don't think there's anything to worry about," the man replied, still sounding dangerously close. "This is quite a lovely tree, Mrs. Pennywell."

"Isn't it?" the old lady practically giggled. "Mr. Westerman did us proud again this year. This place couldn't function without the kind souls who offer us financial assistance. Heaven knows the funding from the state isn't enough, Mr. Ringol. But I am worried that the donations haven't been as... generous this year as they have in the past. Oh, people are always good to remember the children at Christmastime, but, as I told you earlier, we are more and more strained throughout the rest of the year."

"But you're still taking in more children," Ringol observed.

"The need is so great, it's very hard to say 'no'," she admitted. "And I wish we could take in more than we do. Some of these children so desperately need more than we're able to give them."

"Like this new boy you were telling me about, uh..."

"Daniel," she replied. Behind the tree, Daniel gasped in surprise, but the sound apparently went unheard. "You know he hasn't spoken a word since the day he saw his parents die. Such a tragedy."

"He actually saw it happen?"

"Yes. His parents were setting up an exhibit in the museum. They were archeologists, you know, and quite brilliant by all accounts. Anyway, according to his file, Daniel was only a few feet away when a chain broke and a very heavy stone that was supposed to fit on the top of the exhibit fell and... they were killed instantly."

"Dear God!" Ringol gasped.

"Yes, the poor child."

A roaring sound filled Daniel's ears as he squeezed his eyes more tightly closed, his mind refusing to absorb the words that described those memories he fought so hard to block away.

"When the social worker from Manhattan contacted me and told me about what happened, and what a gifted child he is, I just couldn't leave him in the facility in New York City. They do the best they can, but there is such overcrowding and practically no chance at providing the kind of emotional support a traumatized boy like Daniel needs. At least living here will feel more like a home to him and we can give him a little more personal attention. I'm afraid if we can't get him talking soon, there will be very little chance of finding foster parents willing to take him in, much less an adoption. It's so difficult to place older children in the first place, but a child with emotional scars... "

"So the budget will just have to stretch a little further," Ringol concluded.

"Yes, and I'm afraid that may mean selling off some of these books Mr. Anderson left to us in his will along with this house. I'm sure they're worth quite a bit of money, and they really are going to waste here. The children we take in are mostly too young to read these books."

"It's a fine library, all right," he agreed. "If you're sure you want to sell them, I'll be glad to ask around. It would be a shame to break up the collection, and I might be able to find someone who would buy the entire library and give you a fair price."

"Oh, that would be wonderful!" Mrs. Pennywell gushed. "Thank you, Mr. Ringol. Once again we're in your debt. Uh, Mr. Ringol?"

At the rustling sound of a branch just above his hiding place, Daniel froze, holding his breath as a shadow fell across him.

"Is something wrong?" Mrs. Pennywell asked.

"Oh, no," Ringol replied. "Nothing at all. Just wanted to get a better look at your tree. Quite lovely."

"Uh, yes, it is," confusion colored the old woman's voice.

"Well, I really must be going. I have to make a few more Christmas Eve visitations before I retire for the evening. And I must be up early tomorrow morning, of course."

"Of course. Thank you again, Mr. Ringol. We are certainly in your debt."

"Think nothing of it, good lady," he replied.

"I'll show you to the door."

It wasn't until the lamps were turned off and the footsteps moved away into the hall that Daniel allowed himself to breathe freely again. He listened as the voices faded to a soft murmur, then the sound of the front door closing was followed by the hallway going dark. He thought he could hear Mrs. Pennywell moving back toward her office. Daniel thought it would be best to wait a few minutes before he emerged from his hiding place to make his way back upstairs.

Movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention and he turned to his left. He had completely forgotten that there was a window behind him. As he peeked over the edge of the sill and through the frosted pane, he had a view of the entire front yard, and there, standing on the sidewalk halfway between the front door and the street, stood a man -- a tall slender man in a dark overcoat and hat. He was smiling toward the window, and Daniel had no doubt whatsoever that the man was looking right at him. Daniel gasped, his eyes going wide. The smile on the man's face broadened into a grin and his shoulders shook ever so slightly. Raising two fingers to the side of his head, the man offered a nod and something of a cross between a wave and a salute, then turned and headed down the sidewalk.

Daniel continued to watch as the man crossed over the street and disappeared down the path that led into the park across the way. His heart pounding, he suddenly knew he couldn't wait there any longer. Slipping out from behind the tree, the precious book still clutched against his body, he moved quickly to the door, then as fast as he could go and stay reasonably quiet, he headed up the stairs. He had been on his way to the bedroom he had been assigned, the one he shared with five other boys, all younger than himself, but as his hand grasped the doorknob, he stopped.

He couldn't keep the book in his room. There was no place to hide it, no way to keep the other boys from seeing it. He had only intended to keep it long enough to be able to read it and look at the illustrations, then he planned to put it back. But if someone saw him with it... Pushing down the rush of panic that seemed to fill his chest, he looked around desperately until his gaze fell on another set of stairs leading upward at the end of the hallway. There was no third floor to the house, so those steps must lead to the attic, he reasoned. Quietly he tiptoed down the hall, past more bedroom doors, until he reached the steps and started up into the darkness.

The dark was nothing strange or frightening to Daniel. He'd been with his parents when they'd explored long-buried tombs with nothing to light their way but a flashlight. All he had to do was pretend he was on yet another adventure into discovery. At a small landing, the stairway turned back the opposite direction and it was impossible to see anything by the time his outreaching hand felt the door before him. He fumbled until he found the knob, holding his breath as he turned it. Luck was with him; it wasn't locked.

Sliding inside, he closed the door behind him and waited a moment to get his bearings. There was a soft glow of light in the room coming from the large, round window just beneath the peak of the roof. It illuminated the attic just enough that he could make his way through the stacks of boxes and old furniture without any noisy incident. Retrieving a cushion from an old rocking chair, he sank to the floor in front of the window and opened his treasured book. The light filtering in from the streetlights and the full moon was a little dim, but it was enough.

Daniel sighed aloud as his eyes eagerly drank in the familiar sights in the pictures. Somehow he knew that no matter where destiny eventually took him, the desert would always feel like home to him. He'd spent most of the eight years of his life in Egypt on digs with his parents, almost all of the part of his life that he was old enough to remember. America, the land of his birth, the land his parents called home, was still strange to him. Now, without them, it was more so than ever. What had once seemed like an adventure full of wonderful new experiences was now just unsettlingly foreign, frightening and lonely.

He turned a page and his eyes lit up with the first hint of a smile they'd exhibited in months. Sand. It was just a picture of a large expanse of nothing but sand. Yet it was peaceful and calm and warm and comforting. His fingers brushed across the page, yearning for the familiar rough feel of that sand against his skin, and his eyes burned when all he felt was the glossy paper's smooth surface. He blinked to dry away the moisture. It had been many weeks since he'd allowed himself to cry. If he could think of his parents and manage to hold back the tears, there was no way he would let a simple photograph set them free. Quickly he turned to a new page, then another. Some of the images were familiar -- places he'd visited with his mom and his dad. Others were new and sparked that familiar longing to go and see them with his own eyes.

He lost track of time as he looked through the book, all too soon finding himself on the last page. Not yet ready to let go of his memories, he flipped back to that earlier picture -- the golden sand, lying in untouched drifts in the desert. He lifted his eyes from the picture of his past and looked out the window at the reality of his present. There, across the street, was the park. Daniel caught his breath at the image before him. The newly fallen snow lay pristine across much of the ground between the clusters of trees and it shimmered in the moonlight. It was so different, and yet there was something enticing about the silver-white blanket. He knew it wouldn't feel like sand, and yet he longed to touch it.

Daniel took his book and his cushion back to the old rocking chair, concealing the former beneath the latter, then made his way to the door, down the stairs and back into his bedroom. In utter silence, he retrieved his gloves and coat, both new -- bought for him by his mother when they had first arrived in New York City in preparation for the coming winter. He slipped out of the room and down the main staircase. Seeing the light coming from beneath the closed door of the office as he passed, he knew Mrs. Pennywell was still working at her desk inside. He moved on, down the hall and out the front door without allowing himself a second thought. It was only as he stood on the icy sidewalk, feeling the bite of the cold wind on his face, that he wondered for just a moment if this had been such a good idea. Then the sight of the snow drifts called to him once more and he headed into the park.

Stepping off the pathway and moving through a small stand of trees, he stood at the edge of a wide expanse of white upon which no person or creature had yet trod. It was almost too beautiful to even think about disturbing, and yet he had to touch it. Dropping to his knees at the edge of the clearing, Daniel took off one glove and, spreading his fingers wide, carefully lowered his hand until it made contact with the snow.

It was so different from sand. Cold and wet, not hot and dry. Smooth instead of coarse. Soft instead of gritty. Not worse nor better than the texture of the world he had known. Just... different. This was a whole new world to explore and learn about -- two things that were so much a part of who Daniel was. But this time he would have to explore alone, learning without the benefit of the two people who had been his teachers as well as his parents, and he wasn't at all sure he could do that or that he even wanted to try.

Far in the distance, there were sounds of voices and traffic, but right here in the clearing where he knelt, it was silent. When he looked up, he could see a few of the brighter stars above the tree tops; there was too much light nearby to see more. He remembered looking up at the stars lying on a blanket spread across the desert sand with his father. He remembered the stories his mother told him of Christmases when she was a child -- Christmases with snow and ice and pine trees and holly and candlelight and Santa Claus. So different from the Christmases he had known. Cold, not warm. Silver white, not golden.

Different. Not worse. Not better. Just different.

But how could it be Christmas at all when they weren't here, when they'd never be here again?

Would even Santa Claus be able to find him here in this strange new land?

"The spirit of Santa Claus, the spirit of Christmas, it's everywhere, Danny," his father had told him once. "Sometimes you find it where you least expect it to be. But if you hold it in your heart, you'll always be able to recognize it when you see it."

Daniel hadn't really understood what his father meant. And he wasn't sure he could find Christmas here all alone.

Gradually, he became aware of a sound. Voices. Singing. Floating on the cold air from the other side of the park. He listened for several minutes, then, as the voices grew gradually louder, he rose and started walking in their direction. He passed through another small group of trees to find himself back at the edge of the pathway that wound through the park. In the distance, a cluster of small lights flickered as they moved slowly toward him. It took a moment to recognize them as the flames of candles held in the hands of the people coming down the path toward him. It was their voices he heard. He could just make out the words and remembered his mother's voice singing the same carol.

"Silent Night, Holy Night, all is calm, all is bright..."

"Mommy look!"

Daniel's head whipped around at the sound of the little girl's voice. Her dark blond hair, drawn into pigtails and braided, glistened damply with fallen snow and her cheeks were rosy from the icy wind. She couldn't be more than four or five and was sitting on her mother's lap on a bench just across the path from where Daniel stood.

"...mother and child..."

"Aren't they beautiful?" the small voice sighed with wonder.

"Yes, Jenny, they are," her mother whispered, wrapping her arms tightly around the child. It was then Daniel notice how much they were both shivering.

"Holy infant so tender and mild..."

The carolers had moved steadily closer and now walked by on the path between Daniel and the mother and child.

"Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace."

Daniel watched the group of about a dozen people pass by in coats and hats with sprigs of holly decorating their lapels, holding their candles before them as they continued on. When he looked back across at the little girl and her mother, he could clearly see tears in the woman's eyes.

"Mommy, I'm cold," the little girl whispered.

"I know, Jenny. I'm sorry."

As Daniel watched, a man came down the path. As he approached, the woman called to him.

"Please, sir, we don't have any place to go and my little girl is so cold. Could you help us?"

Without even looking in their direction, the man replied sternly, "There's a homeless shelter on the other side of town. You should go there."

"But it's so far away. Please, if you could just spare us a blanket or..."

The man quickened his steps and pulled his collar higher as he moved away. Daniel pulled his own coat more tightly around him against a sudden chill, then his blue eyes locked with the brown ones of the little girl... and unexpectedly she smiled at him.

"Don't worry," she said to him. "Santa Claus will find us. He'll find you too. He always knows where we are, doesn't he, Mommy?"

"Yes, baby," her mother replied with a sob. She looked up at Daniel. "You should go home, young man. Your folks'll be worried after you."

Daniel shook his head. The woman frowned.

"Are you lost?"

Daniel thought a moment then shook his head again. The woman's fingers looked so pale and cold, trembling as they stroked her daughter's hair. Daniel looked down at his own hands: one glove loosely clutched in the other gloved hand. With only a moment's hesitation, he took off the other and handed them both to the woman.

"Oh, but you'll need your gloves." She started to hand them back to him.

Daniel simply gazed at her intently and pushed the gloves in her hand back toward her. Then he started unbuttoning his coat.

"What are you doing?" the woman asked. But he didn't reply. He took off the coat and started wrapping it around the little girl's shoulders.

"Oh, it's such a warm coat!" the little girl sighed as her hands sought out the sleeves of the warm wool garmet.

Her mother was still shaking her head at Daniel. "You'll get cold without your coat and gloves."

Daniel just shrugged.

"Do you live nearby?" she asked.

He nodded, then motioned for them to follow him.

"Where are we going, Mommy?"

"I don't know, Jenny. But our new friend here wants us to come with him, and I think maybe we should." Lifting her daughter in her arms, she followed.

It wasn't too far to Taylor Street and the familiar house with the Christmas tree in the large window. Just as they were about to cross the road, the woman stopped.

"This is where you live?" she asked, her eyes falling on the slightly faded white sign in the front yard.

Daniel nodded.

"But this is..." she stopped, biting her lip as Daniel's eyes turned away.

"What's wrong, Mommy?" Jenny asked, then her eyes lit up. "Oh, look at the tree! Isn't it just wonderful? I bet it's really warm in there, too."

Daniel took hold of the woman's free hand and tugged, drawing her after him as he crossed the street. As they approached the front door, he put his finger against his lips, making sure both Jenny and her mother understood. He turned the door knob and pushed, breathing a sigh of relief that no one had discovered it unlocked, then drew his companions inside with him.

"Oh!" Jenny gasped as they passed the open doors to the library and the Christmas tree came into full view.

Daniel quickly put a finger to his lips again, then encouraged them to keep going up the stairs, down the second floor hall, then up the dark, narrow staircase into the attic. He led them through the boxes to his spot by the window, grabbing the cushion from the rocking chair on the way. Dropping the cushion to the floor, he motioned for them to stay there, then he crossed the room to where he'd seen a stack of old blankets. He brought them over and dropped them next to the cushion.

"You want us to stay here for the night?" the woman asked.

Daniel nodded.

"But if they catch us here, they'll think we broke in, that we're thieves."

Daniel shook his head and put his finger to his lips once more.

"He wants us to be quiet, Mommy," Jenny whispered.

Daniel almost smiled at her, then he pointed to himself, then to the door. The woman nodded in reply, then grabbed his arm as he was about to turn around.

"My name is Mary. Mary Dickens. And this is my daughter, Jenny."

"How do you do," Jenny said, taking hold of Daniel's hand and shaking it as she had obviously been taught to do.

"What's your name?" Mary asked.

Daniel just blinked for a moment, pushing his glasses up on his nose, then reached out toward the pocket of the coat that practically swallowed Jenny. Pulling the pocket inside out, he pointed to the lettering on the small piece of cloth sewn to the lining.

"Daniel?" Mary read, and he nodded.

"Thank you, Daniel."

With a fleeting smile, he turned and left. Just as he slipped out the door, he heard Jenny ask, "Why won't he talk to us, Mommy?"

Daniel paused listening. "I'm not sure, baby. Maybe he isn't able to talk, or maybe he's just too sad."

"Why would he be sad? It's such a nice house he lives in."

"This is a house were children come to stay when they don't have parents to take care of them," Mary explained.

"You mean he doesn't have a mommy or daddy?"

"I don't think so, baby. And I think it's made him so sad, he doesn't feel like talking anymore."

"Poor Daniel."

Daniel closed the door and made his way back to his room. Quietly he changed into the pajamas Mrs. Pennywell had given him and slipped into his bed, placing his folded glasses on the table next to it. He pulled the covers up over his head. Tears filled his eyes, but he didn't make a sound. Finally, somewhere in the wee hours of Christmas Day, he drifted off to an uneasy sleep.

* * *

A tall figure stood in the shadow of the trees at the edge of the park and looked up toward the attic window of the Taylor Street Home. He was almost certain he'd seen movement there not long after the boy had silently led the homeless woman and her child into the house. He had recognized the boy immediately from his shaggy hair and dark rimmed glasses and had followed them from the park after seeing the boy take off his coat and wrap it around the little girl. He'd been close enough to hear the woman and her daughter quite clearly, even though neither they nor the boy had noticed him.

With a sigh, then a shake of his head, and finally a smile and a chuckle, he embarked upon one more duty before he headed home for a few hours sleep before what was sure to be an eventful Christmas morning.

* * *

It was the frantic scrambling about and shouts of joy from the other boys in his room that awoke Daniel just as the morning sunlight beamed its first rays through his bedroom window. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up and looked around. The younger children were pulling on their slippers and rushing out the door. Without his glasses, Daniel saw the blurry image of Bobby standing in the hallway, cautioning the children not to run down the stairs.

"Did Santa come, Bobby?" asked a little girl Daniel remembered as Clara.

"Well, I think he must have," Bobby replied. "Didn't you hear that commotion on the roof in the night? Sure sounded like reindeer hooves to me."

"Oh, goodie!" cried Clara as she joined the rush toward the library below. Already the first arrivals downstairs could be heard shouting their delight.

Bobby leaned in the doorway. "Better get a move on, Daniel. Don't want to miss Christmas, do you?"

Daniel looked away, but climbed out of his bed, retrieved his glasses, and put his feet in the slippers Mrs. Pennywell had given him before he followed. He paused just outside his bedroom door for a moment, his eyes turning toward the other end of the hallway and the stairs to the attic. He bit his lip, wishing he could check on Mary and Jenny, but knowing he couldn't draw attention to them. Instead, he followed the rest of the children and was the last to arrive in the library.

In contrast to the large empty chamber of the night before, the library now felt quite crowded. Besides the children who lived in the home, Mrs. Pennywell, Bobby and Miss Helen, there were a number of other adults and even a few children Daniel hadn't seen before. There were tables set up with all sorts of wonderful looking treats, and under the tree were stacks of brightly wrapped packages. Mrs. Pennywell was in the process of trying to establish order among the children who were rifling through the presents to find the ones with their names attached.

"Children, please! We don't want to break anything. Please move away from the tree and we'll hand out the gifts in an orderly fashion."

Reluctantly, the children began to obey, although Daniel saw one boy -- Frankie he thought his name was -- trying to hide a box behind his back as he walked away from the tree. Unfortunately for him, Bobby saw him and took the box away, directing him to the corner to stand for ten minutes. At the sight of Frankie's trembling lower lip, Bobby reduced the sentence to five minutes. Turning toward Daniel, Bobby gave him a quick wink. Daniel was amazed to see a smile on the normally stern-looking face. For the first time, he realized the young man wasn't really much more than a boy himself. Funny how he had seemed so much older.

"All right, all right. Children, quiet down. Quiet. That's it." Mrs. Pennywell patted one red-haired little boy on the head. "Before we all take a look at what Santa brought for us, I have a couple of things to say." A groan came from the corner and she narrowed her gaze in that direction. "That will be quite enough from you, Frankie Waters, if you please." Some of the other children laughed.

"I know how hard it is for you all to wait, so I won't take long. We need to all remember before they leave us this morning to thank our friends and board members who have helped us out this year and have come to share their Christmas morning with us. I want to especially thank Mr. Westerman for the beautiful tree, Miss Helen and Martha, Debbie and Zack for the wonderful job they did in decorating it. We also want to say a special thank you to Mr. Ringol who has provided most of the lovely food on the tables across the room."

Daniel looked toward the man he had seen through the window the night before, and was surprised to see him looking straight at him. Ringol nodded at him with a smile as he touched his fingers to his eyebrow just as he had when Daniel had seen him through the bay window the night before. Daniel barely registered the sound of Mrs. Pennywell's voice as she began calling out names and handing out gifts.

"Daniel?"

He almost jumped at the sound of his name.

"This box has your name on it."

Daniel's eyes grew large at the sight of the big box Bobby set down before him.

"I think you should open it, Daniel," Mr. Ringol said, and Daniel could have sworn the man's eyes were twinkling. Unlike most of the other children who were gleefully ripping into their packages, Daniel began to carefully pull at the tape and separate the wrapping paper with as little tearing as possible. He was feeling all the more nervous because he knew that Mr. Ringol as well as Mrs. Pennywell, Miss Helen and several other people were watching him. He glanced around at each face for a moment, nervously licking his dry lips, before returning to his task. When he'd finally removed the paper, he slowly lifted the lid off the box, then folded back layers of tissue paper. When what was beneath them was revealed, his eyes grew round in surprise. There inside the box lay his coat. The coat his mother had bought for him. The coat he had given to Jenny the night before. And lying on top of the coat were his gloves. Daniel swallowed hard before looking up at Mrs. Pennywell and Mr. Ringol. The old woman spoke softly. "I believe these things belong to you, Daniel."

He shook his head. "They don't?" Mr. Ringol asked. Daniel shook his head again, his eyes dropping to the floor. "Well, I realize you loaned them to your friends, but they won't be needing them now."

Daniel's panicked blue eyes flew up to meet Mr. Ringol's, and as he watched, the man moved to one side and stepping out from behind him came Jenny and her mother.

"Oh, Daniel, look what Santa brought!" Held tight in the child's arms was a beautiful doll with chocolate brown curls dressed in a red velvet dress. "And Mommy and I both got coats and gloves and hats and scarfs! Isn't it wonderful?"

Daniel turned a puzzled look toward Mrs. Pennywell as she explained. "You see, Santa let us know we had guests in the attic last night, so we brought them downstairs to a warmer room to spend the night in. He also left presents for them this morning and since they seemed to be friends of yours, Daniel, we invited them to join us for the Christmas festivities."

Daniel swallowed hard, his head dipping until Mrs. Pennywell placed her fingers under his chin and brought his gaze back up to meet hers. To his surprise, the old woman's eyes were filled with warmth and affection. "It was a very unselfish thing you did last night, Daniel, when you helped Mary and Jenny. I only wish you had felt you could come to me to help. I don't want you to be afraid, Daniel. I know you feel like you're very much alone, but you're not. A lot of us would like to be your friends if you'll let us."

Jenny's mother reached out and took Daniel's hand. "Everything is all right now," she told him. "Mr. Ringol here knows some people who need a live-in housekeeper and they don't mind my having Jenny along. We're gonna be just fine. Thank you, Daniel, for all you did for Jenny and me."

The corners of his mouth curled upward ever so slightly as he looked at her.

"Now, I do believe we have another present with your name on it, Daniel," Mrs. Pennywell grinned as she handed a second box to the amazed boy. Once again, he started to carefully work the tape free, but this time he had only just begun when Frankie grabbed the box out of his hands, ripped the paper off and handed it back. "Jeez, Daniel, don't you know how to open a present?"

"Back into your corner, Frankie," Mrs. Pennywell commanded. "It's Daniel's present and he can open it any way he pleases." With a sigh and a pout, Frankie marched back to the corner to watch Daniel finish opening the box.

Once again, Daniel was shocked to discover what was inside.

"It was the strangest thing, Daniel," Mrs. Pennywell told him. "When we went upstairs to get Mary and Jenny, we found this book sitting in an old rocking chair. How it got up there, well... I guess that will just have to remain a mystery."

"Maybe someone borrowed it," Mr. Ringol suggested. "I'm sure it would have found its way back to the library eventually, right Daniel?"

Daniel nodded enthusiastically, then lifted the book that reminded him so much of home out of the box.

Mrs. Pennywell continued. "Well, I think that book really could use a good home with someone who'll really love it and take care of it. Do you think you could do that, Daniel?"

Daniel's mouth dropped open as he stared at the woman who just grinned at him as she brushed his hair back from his face. "Yes, Daniel, it's all yours. And if you want to read any of the other books in the library, just ask first and I'm sure it will be okay for you to read those, too."

Daniel was so stunned he didn't even know what to think. He looked around the room and saw the other children all happily playing, showing off and otherwise checking out their Christmas gifts. Bright shiny new toys, wonderful colorful clothes, all sorts of things that any boy or girl would be thrilled to receive for Christmas. He looked down into the boxes before him and saw his coat and gloves and the book and felt a wave of warmth wash over him. Some people might think that getting your own coat and gloves back and a book you'd already looked at for Christmas presents was a little lame, but Daniel didn't think so.

He looked at Jenny, happily bouncing up and down, her eyes wide as she pointed out things on the tree to her mother. Mary's eyes were filled with tears, but Daniel knew they were the good kind of tears, filled with hope for the future. He glanced back toward the corner and saw that even Frankie Waters was smiling as he pulled a toy truck out of the small box he had tried to sneak away from the tree. Bobby was standing by having finally delivered the gift to the boy who, although clearly on the naughty side of Santa's list, had still been remembered.

"Hey, Daniel, I think there are a couple more boxes with your name on them over here," called Miss Helen.

Mr. Ringol knelt down in front of Daniel, a slightly sad look in his eyes. "I know it can't really be a great Christmas for you, Daniel, but I hope you know now that you aren't alone. That there are people here who care about you and want to help you."

Daniel nodded.

"Well, just so you know, I'm one of those people." He reached into his pocket and handed Daniel a small white card with the name "Christopher K. Ringol, Esq." printed across it with a phone number just below. "If you ever need anything, you can call me. Okay?"

Daniel nodded again. Ringol frowned at him. "You know, Daniel, it'll be a little hard to call me on the phone if you aren't talking."

The boy looked down again. Ringol wrapped his long fingers around Daniel's arm and gave him a gentle squeeze.

"It's okay, Danny," he assured him. "When you find something truly worth saying, I'm sure you'll say it. Merry Christmas, Daniel."

Daniel looked back toward the Christmas tree. Through the window behind it, the sun shown brightly on the snow-covered ground. Snow and sand, cold and warm, music and silence, dark night and bright stars. An old woman, a tall stranger, a desperate mother and a beautiful little girl. They were all a part of Christmas, Daniel realized, as he heard his father's words echoing in his memory.

The spirit of Christmas, it's everywhere, Danny. Sometimes you find it where you least expect it to be. But if you hold it in your heart, you'll always be able to recognize it when you see it.

He'd found Christmas. It was in this room, in these people he hardly knew. It was in his own heart, too. And in that moment, it was as if the spirits of his parents were standing by his side and he didn't feel so alone anymore.

"Merry Christmas."

Though the words were hardly more than a whisper, heads turned in amazement and joy to look at the eight-year-old boy with dark-rimmed glasses and a mop of light brown hair.

And Daniel smiled.