“Oh yes!” said Mr. McCredie. Suddenly his voice had perked right up, and he got quite excited. “I haven’t seen it in years. Can you bring it down?”

“Why don’t you just . . . ?”

Carmen stopped herself before she suggested that he sell it. It wouldn’t be any use and she would turn into Sofia, telling everyone else what was best for them.

“Okay,” she said.

There were also Christmas decorations right next to it, she saw.

She made Mr. McCredie cover up his old, very expensive Persian rug with dust sheets as a starting maneuver before she brought down the two boxes of Christmas decorations and—carefully and in pieces—the train set.

As he blew off the dust, his eyes widened, and Carmen could see him for the boy he must have been: bespectacled and full of enthusiasm for the little electric locomotives. There was even snow on the fir trees, and little metal figures of a railway porter and a mailman putting large brown sacks of mail onto a goods carriage proudly marked “Royal Mail.”

“Does it still work?” said Carmen. Mr. McCredie looked all ready to start laying track. “Don’t set it up here,” added Carmen suddenly. “If I move the window display . . . Oh yes! We could put it in the window.”

“We’re not selling my train set.”

“We’re not! It’s just to attract children in. And surround it with books about Christmas and trains. And Christmas trains.” Carmen frowned. “Let me order quite a lot of The Polar Express. I have a hunch this is going to work.”

Mr. McCredie looked at her. “Well, I suppose . . . I have no reason to doubt you so far.”

This felt so good to Carmen that she beamed at him. They carefully carried all the boxes of the train set to the front of the shop, whereupon Carmen ordered the books and served customers, and Mr. McCredie had an undeniably happy two hours setting up the track and the buildings and the trees and even the hill tunnel before the station in perfect order, armed with a damp cloth as Carmen sternly gave him dusting instructions. It was an enjoyable morning for both of them.

Nothing was doing when they clicked the switch on the track, but Carmen dashed down to the friendly hardware store man, returning with an entirely new plug, some bits of wire, and odds and ends that the nice gentleman assured her would be just the ticket, and an invitation to the magic shop’s party. She mentioned it to Mr. McCredie, who winced and said, “Oh. Bronagh’s. We’d better go, or she’ll put a spell on us.”

“You should go,” said Carmen. “It feels like this entire street all really support each other.”

Mr. McCredie shrugged. “Oh,” he said, fiddling with the mechanism. “I’m not really one for joining in.”

“Well, tough luck,” said Carmen. “Because I said yes for the both of us.”