I rouse Emily to our guests, as she finishes off our fifteenth snowman by setting the head atop its torso. She stands limp at my direction, pointing out the coming shadows and I cannot help but hear a muffled sigh as she decapitates her latest creation with a single push of her hand.

That’s a stupid name! Whirly-gig is much better, I think. Who in their rightmind would point at this thing and say, ‘I’m going to fly in my Model-A1’.People would much rather say, ‘Get in my whirly-gig’. And that’s what youshould name it.

Yes—and had we one, you’d probably never see us at all.” Mrs. Locke adds jokingly.Emily pulls ecstatically against my clothing, a new found joy in her eyes.“Samuel! We must find a piano for the Lockes! It is the very least we can do!