Dancing Through the Snow by Jean Little Page A

hideous object with the rest to dry out. Hers was not the only ugly one, she noticed. But most were good enough to give to someone. Not hers though. Even Jess would not have been able to think of anything polite to say about it.
    Yet she must have a present for Jess. Suddenly she longed desperately to come up with a splendid present, something special that would tell her how Min felt about her.
    But what could it be? And if she thought of the perfect present, how would she pay for it? Even painting a picture to give would require paper and paints, and although Min loved to draw and paint, she could not manage it without supplies.
    She went on sitting in front of the television, but no longer followed the story. She felt as though she’d swallowed a stone. Not just any stone. A great lump of grey granite with sharp edges. There was no way she could produce anything worth presenting.
    When Jess came home, Min’s head rested on the cushion she had thrown so furiously across the room an hour earlier and she was asleep. Jess pulled an afghan over her and switched off the TV.
    Min did not waken until dishes clinked in the kitchen. She yawned and then went to help get lunch.
    “Welcome, cook’s assistant,” Jess said as Min started to set the table without being told.
    When they had finished, Jess yawned, in her turn, and said, “Wake me up in fifteen minutes. I have a lot to do before the holiday.”
    She went to the living room and sat in the big chair facing the Christmas tree. In two minutes she was asleep. Min had opened her mouth to ask how she would know. She had no watch. But Jess had fallen asleep as suddenly and completely as a felled tree. Min stared at her and wondered what she should do. Then she crept away and went through the house looking for clocks. There was one on the stove and there was also a timer on top. Min set the timer and watched the clock face. The cat stared at her, as if puzzled by her keeping this silent vigil.
    “Time’s up,” Min said, gently, right on the dot. “I was wondering why you call Toby
Toby
? I heard his mum calling him Tobias.”
    “Laura does not believe in nicknames, but I do,” Jess said. “If you could have seen how small he was, you would know that Tobias was too heavy a name for such a scrap. I could hold his whole little body in my cupped hands. His dad calls him Toby too, although Baxter always says Tobias.”
    Min filled their water glasses and sat down at her place. Then she asked, hesitantly, “Do you know where his … his real father is right now?”
    “Patrick? In Indonesia or Sri Lanka, last I heard. But he’s supposed to be coming home to spend Toby’s holidays with him,” Jess answered.
    They ate quickly. Min had gone back to trying to think of how to come up with gifts. She was startled when Jess pushed back her stool and spoke to the cat. “Maudie, take care of Min. I have Christmas shopping to do, among other things. I got you a warm hat this morning, by the way, Min. It’s with your coat in the back hall. Oh, here’s some Christmas money for you and a wallet to keep it in until you spend it. You can walk downtown from here if you like or I can drive you later on. Do you know the way?”
    Min nodded dumbly, her eyes huge.
    Jess smiled at her. “Fine. See you later. I’ll be back well before supper.”
    She was gone. Min sat frozen in her chair until Maude Motley butted her ankle with her bullet head.
    “Oh, Maudie, how did she guess?” the girl asked the cat, leaning down to stroke her. Maude paced down the hall to the front room with its enticing tree. Then she purred and curled up in Jess’s chair, nose tucked under her tail. Min perched on the couch and examined the wallet. Then she counted the money with hands that trembled. Fifty dollars! She had never had money she was free to spend in any way she pleased, never in her life. She sat staring at it, dumbfounded by the knowledge of its buying power and by the feel of it in her fingers. She