She looked back over her shoulder and there, between the dark book stacks, she could still see the open doorway of the shop and even catch a glimpse of the busy road outside. Looking around the room, Carmen thought she had never been in a nicer place. It was a dry, clean room with two little chairs and a table and a dresser, and a mantelpiece over the fire and, above that, a picture of an old man with a gray beard. In one corner there was a door, which Carmen thought must lead to Mr. McCredie’s bedroom, and on one wall was a shelfful of books. And on the seat nearest the fire sat Mr. McCredie, crying as softly as he knew how.

“Goodness, Mr. McCredie. Are you all right?”

As he looked up, the man’s blue eyes filled with more tears, and then they began trickling down his cheeks, and soon they were running off the end of his nose; at last he covered his face with his hands and began to howl.

“Mr. McCredie! Mr. McCredie!” said Carmen in great distress. “Don’t! Don’t! What is the matter? Aren’t you well? Do tell me what is wrong.” But the man continued sobbing as if his heart would break.

Carmen poured him a fresh cup of tea from the warmed pot and placed it next to him. Finally, he straightened up.

“I’m . . . I’m so sorry. I’ve been such a bad person.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve let the shop go to rack and ruin . . . I’ve wasted my life, betrayed my family . . .”

He looked up at the stern, gray-haired picture of his father and held up a letter. Carmen looked at it.

“It’s from the council,” he said.

“I know,” said Carmen. “I know what it says. Sofia told me.”

Mr. McCredie started to cry again. “I know,” he said. “But I didn’t really believe it until now.”

“I’m sure it will be okay,” said Carmen. “I’m sure it can be saved.”

“It’s too late!”

“Nothing is ever too late,” said Carmen, hoping she believed that. “Never!”

“But it’s nearly Christmas.”

“Nonsense,” said Carmen. “It’s winter here for about nine months. It’s never Christmas. I’m sure there is lots we can do. Also, forty percent of business is done at Christmastime.”

“Do you think?”

“So I heard.” She looked around. “Sorry, do you live here?”

“Upstairs mostly,” said Mr. McCredie. “This is where I come to read.”

“It’s lovely,” said Carmen. “Like a little cave.”

“I know, but I’ve wasted so much time here when I should have . . .”

“It’ll be fine,” said Carmen severely, trying to head off another flourish of tears. Oh, for goodness’ sake. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“But you’re going to leave! I heard you talking to your friend.”

“Well, you shouldn’t eavesdrop.”