"Harry," she said, "I'm just a woman. I don't know much about world revolutions or sociology. But I know one thing. No matter what happens, these twenty years haven't been wasted. We've been _happy_, Harry. And so have the Kids." "I wonder.... _Are_ they happy, Ruth? Do we even know what happiness is?" She smiled. "Darling, please don't go abstract on me. I _know_ they're happy." "And what about Adam?" She shook her head. "I suppose he's not. But the percentage is still pretty high, don't you think? You said Fairyland is nothing more than an orphan home, and maybe you're right. I guess I never really thought of it any other way." I stared at the woman who had been my wife for twenty-three years as if I'd never seen her before. "You mean you never, not even at the beginning, believed in the idea of Fairyland?" "I just didn't think much about it, Harry. I believed in the Kids, that's all. I figured that our job was to look after them and keep them happy and well. We've done that job, and I think it's a pretty fine achievement. I'm proud--for both of us!" "Thanks," I said dully. "You know, Mommy, I'd almost forgotten...." "Almost forgotten what, Daddy?" I laughed shortly. "What it feels like to find out there's no Santa Claus!" * * * * * In the two-week interval between Uncles' Day and Christmas-Two, the air in Fairyland became super-charged with a kind of hushed expectancy, and of course everybody was being extra-special good in the manner of kids everywhere during Santa's Season. The holiday spirit should have been contagious, but this season I wasn't having any. My pet theory and private dream had been scuttled, so I sulked around feeling sorry for myself. Even Adam-Two was a model of juvenile deportment. Never late for meals, always washed behind his ears, and--best of all--he stopped asking embarrassing questions. This sudden change probably would have made me suspicious if I'd been thinking clearly. As it was, I merely felt grateful. And of course Mommy was too busy helping the girls make popcorn and candy to concern herself with such things. On Christmas Eve, I turned the weather machines to _Snow_--a category specially reserved for our two Christmases--and the big, soft white flakes came drifting lazily down into Fairyland. The lights were out in all the buildings, the Kids were asleep, and our two moons were bright and full. Ruth and I stood silently on the front porch, watching the snow and the moonlight. "Harry...." "Mm?" "Do you still think these twenty years were wasted?" I slipped an arm around her waist. "It isn't fair to ask me that on a night like this.... But if they were, I'm glad we wasted them together." She leaned over and kissed my cheek. "Thank you, Daddy. Merry Christmas." "Merry Christmas, Mommy." * * * * *