Free Dancing Through the Snow by Jean Little Page A

her.”
    “Just because her sister calls her Maggot doesn’t mean you should,” Jess told him, trying not to grin.
    “But it suits her,” Toby said.
    “Do you know what a maggot is?” Jess asked.
    “Okay, okay,” Toby said. “The airport shuttle is picking us all up after supper on Christmas Eve. Mum has promised to take their Christmas stockings along so they can open them on the plane. Grace almost asked how Santa would get up there, but thought better of it. Sometimes the kid actually thinks.”
    Jess was shrugging into her coat while she listened. She smiled at the mental picture of the little girls with their stockings. “The airport shuttle will drop you here afterwards then?”
    “That’s the plan. Would you like me to try coming down the chimney?”
    “Why not?” Jess said. “I think I have it clear now — maybe. You’re staying here tonight, am I correct? I did ask Laura.”
    “Yup,” Toby said, hanging another origami ornament on a pine branch.
    Jess headed for the door. “Since I wasn’t planning to go out to the veterinary clinic on the way home this afternoon, I have to get some milk and bread and stuff before we eat. I’ll drop by and pick up the pizza on my way back. But I promise to return with maximum speed.”
    “Just remember poor Min is starving,” Toby called after her. “Don’t dawdle.”
    “I won’t,” she called back.
    Once she was gone, Min stood stock still, staring into space.
    Toby studied her. “What’s eating you?” he asked roughly. “You look like you just lost your best friend. I’d say myself that you lucked out, landing here in time for Christmas.”
    “I don’t have any best friend to lose,” Min shot back. “I was just thinking about the dog Jess and I found today, that’s all.”
    Toby swung around. “Dog? I wondered why she’d gone to the vet. I was afraid to ask in case something was wrong with Maude. What dog?”
    When Min did not answer at once, he went on excitedly. “I love dogs, but my parents won’t let me have one. My stepfather says he’s allergic. I think it’s a load of bull.”
    Min ignored the bad language and, after another moment’s hesitation, plunged into the story of the little dog she and Jess had found in the ruined shed. Words poured out of her. She needed to talk about it. She wanted Toby to promise her the dog would live, would get all better. She told him everything, how it had cowered in the corner, how she had been afraid it was a rabid rat or squirrel.
    “What kind of dog do you think it is?” he asked.
    “The vet thought she might be a Peke,” Min said, “but I’ve read books about them and this one didn’t look like the pictures I’ve seen.”
    “Wait a sec. Jess has a really good dog book,” Toby said, rushing to one corner of the room where there was a bookcase containing a couple of dozen reference books. “It’ll be here. She has more than one about birds, one on trees, one about wildflowers, even one on bugs — all kinds of them. Here it is.” He pulled a fat volume off the shelf and then added another thinner one.
    Min forgot how nervous boys made her and leaned close, peering over his shoulder at the photos. He flipped through the pages, taking time to smile at certain pictures. She could tell he had been through the book lots of times. She would have herself if she’d been anyplace where such a book sat waiting.
    “I love this book,” he said. “It tells you what’s good about every breed and warns you about which ones might bite kids or have back problems. The Net is good for researching any one breed, but this gives you the whole picture. Oh, here they are. Pekingese. Was she anything like this?”
    Min felt her eyes sting as she stared at the fluffy, beautifully groomed dogs in the photographs. There were several colours and they were gorgeous. Their tails curled up proudly. Their coats shone with combing and brushing. Their ears hung down and yet seemed perky, and their black faces