The landlady led the girl to the closet door and opened it wide. Instead of its usual contents of coats and umbrellas, the door opened into a huge room. It looked like a Victorian nursery. The room was dominated by a huge Christmas tree, and full of playing children. The girl let out a happy cry and scampered in. The landlady closed the door.

Mirriam got up and cautiously opened the closet. It was once again nothing but closet.

"Where did she go?"

"She's gone away, with the other deep children. We'll get Ellen, she's the local cleaning lady, to help you with your house tomorrow."

"But she'll be back?" Mirriam persisted. She peeked into the musty closet again, equal parts relieved and sad.

"Of course! Didn't you see us all with ours? They must only stay from Midwinter night until 12th night. Past that, they get over-tired and out of control."

Mirriam bristled, and opened her mouth to make an angry reply.

"Which is how you find yourself with a wrecked house and your employers calling the police to locate you," Mrs. Allen said dryly. "No worries. Next year will be better. You can come out and play with us! We build snow forts, and sled, and go ice-skating, and there's a big party in the parish hall. You must come. You're one of us now."

"If I stay. . ." Mirriam mused.

"Of course you'll stay. You have a deep child. You belong to Westfarthing now," Mrs. Allen said. And then she lifted a toast with her teacup, as if it were a cup of wassail.