“I’m sure we have something that will do. How about a set of four carbon steel knives with rosewood handles for fifty-seven dollars?”

“What is carbon steel? Is it really sharp?” insisted the voice.

“Well, some cooks prefer it because it’s easy to sharpen. However, it doesn’t hold an edge as long as stainless steel. We also have the same set in stainless steel for fifty-seven dollars.”

“I don’t know which to get. Homer loves to cut and carve. He’s really an artist at the dinner table.” The voice became confidential. “I’ve always believed he would have been a gifted surgeon. That unfortunate incident in medical school simply unnerved him.”

Lucy stifled the urge to encourage further confidences. “Then carbon steel is probably your best bet,” she advised. She then mentioned a related product, a technique her sales manager insisted upon. “You could also get him a sharpening steel. He would probably enjoy using it.”

“You mean one of those things you draw the blade against before carving? Seems to me Poppa had one of those. I think you’re right; I’m sure Homer would enjoy doing that. It would add a touch of drama. How much are those?”

“We have one with a rosewood handle for eighteen dollars.”

“I’ll take the knives and the steel.”

“All right,” said Lucy, smiling with satisfaction. “I need some information from you, and we’ll ship them right away.” She finished typing in the woman’s name, address, and credit card number. “Thank you for your order. Call Country Cousins again, soon.” She arched her back, stretched her arms, and checked the clock. Almost ten. Three hours until her shift ended at one A.M.

Lucy didn’t mind working at Country Cousins. Like many of the tourists who came to Tinker’s Cove in the summer, she was fascinated by the quaint old country store on Main Street. Inside, there were crockery, kitchen utensils, penny candy, and sturdy country clothes as well as fishing, hunting, and camping equipment. The porch with its ten-foot-long deacon’s bench, the sloping floors of scuffed, bare wood, and the huge potbellied stove were all authentic, they just weren’t the whole story. For the truth was, most of Country Cousins’ business came from catalog sales and was conducted at a mammoth steel warehouse on the outskirts of Tinker’s Cove. There, state-of-the-art telephone and computer systems enabled hundreds of employees like Lucy to sell, pack, and ship millions of dollars’ worth of merchandise twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-four days a year. Country Cousins was closed on Christmas Day. All merchandise was sold with an unconditional guarantee: “We’re not happy unless you are.”

“It’s quiet tonight, isn’t it, Lucy?” said Beverly Thompson, the grandmotherly woman who had the computer station next to Lucy.

“It sure is. And only ten days until Christmas.”

“Are you all ready for Christmas?”