“Stop that,” snapped Sina. “I know what I saw.” But then she looked a bit uncertain. “I didn’t mean to snap,” she added, beginning to calm down. “I know you didn’t see it. But that doesn’t change matters. I did.”

“Lights play tricks at night,” said Old Tom. “I’m not saying you didn’t see something. The question is what. Could have been anything.”

“It could have been Flying Bob,” insisted Zebediah.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Zebediah,” said Winifred. “It wasn’t Flying Bob and it wasn’t Santa Claus.”

“Well, what was it?” asked Zebediah.

“Probably we’ll never know,” said Old Tom. “Could be Sina drifted off and dreamt it. Dreams are curious things. Sina has been known to sleepwalk.”

“I wasn’t asleep and I didn’t dream it,” said Sina and marched up to her room and slammed the door.

Old Tom raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes at us, but instead of going back upstairs, he took his lantern and went to the couch to read. I lingered in the doorway watching him. He might have professed to be disbelieving, but I noticed his eyes went to the window more than once.

* * *

In the morning everyone was cheery at breakfast. Old Tom lifted his coffee cup and picked up the plate beneath it, making circles in the air.

“What’s this, then?” he asked Zebediah.

“I don’t know,” said Zebediah.

“Flying saucer,” said Old Tom.

“Ha, ha,” said Sina. “I’m going out to my studio. Franny, let me know when you have the eggs packed, and we’ll put them in the truck with the milk to take to Brookman’s. I want to see about the cook while we’re there.”

“Can we go, too?” asked Winifred.

“All right,” said Sina. “You’ll have to ride in the back with the milk cans and the eggs.”

“Oh boy!” said Zebediah.

“Keen,” said Wilfred.

“You boys want to help me plant the potatoes while you wait for the girls?” asked Old Tom.

“Oh super boy!” said Zebediah.

“Yes, very keen,” said Wilfred.

“So you think now,” muttered Old Tom. “Ever plant potatoes?”

“No,” said Wilfred.

“Thought not,” said Old Tom, and they traipsed out to the potato field while Winifred and I cleaned up the kitchen.

We had one of those awkward moments you have when suddenly it’s just the two of you and you begin to worry so hard you won’t have any conversation that you don’t.

“Well, jeez,” I said finally when neither of us had said anything for the whole ten minutes it took to wash up.

“Yeah,” said Winifred.

Then we both turned a little red.

“Say!” she said. “Is Franny short for something?”

“No,” I said. “It’s just, you know, Franny. Does anyone ever call you Winnie? Does anyone call Wilfred Will or Willie?”

“No,” said Winifred, and she looked a bit regretful. “Daddy wanted to, but Mother said she didn’t go to all the trouble picking our names just to use some ugly short version. She said once you start that you never get back to the long version.”