DAMN.

     'What's up, master?'

THE DOOR HAS NO HANDLE ON THE INSIDE. I CALL THAT INCONSIDERATE.

     There  were  some more  bumps,  and then a scrape as the  stove lid was lifted up and  pushed sideways. An arm came out and felt around the front of the stove until it found the handle.

     It played with it for a while, but it was obvious that the hand did not belong to a person used to opening things.

     In  short, Death came out of the stove. Exactly how would be  difficult to describe without  folding  the page. Time and  space  were,  from Death's point  of  view, merely things  that he'd heard described.  When  it came to Death, they ticked  the box marked Not Applicable. It might help to think of the universe as a rubber sheet, or perhaps not.

     'Let us in, master,' a pitiful  voice echoed  down from the roof. 'It's brass monkeys out here.'

     Death  went over to the door. Snow was blowing underneath it. He peered nervously at  the  woodwork.  There  was a thump outside and  Albert's voice sounded a lot closer.

     'What's up, master?'

     Death stuck his head through the wood of the door.

     THERE'S THESE METAL THINGS

     'Bolts, master. You slide them,'  said Albert, sticking his hands under his armpits to keep them warm.

AH.

     Death's head  disappeared.  Albert  stamped  his feet  and  watched his breath cloud in  the air while he listened to the pathetic scrabbling on the other side of the door.

     Death's head appeared again.

ER ...

     'It's the latch, master,' said Albert wearily.

RIGHT. RIGHT.

     'You put your thumb on it and push it down.'

RIGHT.

     The head disappeared. Albert jumped up and down a bit, and waited.

     The head appeared.

ER ... I WAS WITH YOU UP TO THE THUMB...

     Albert sighed. 'And then you press down and pull, master.'

AH. RIGHT. GOT YOU.

     The head disappeared.

     Oh dear, thought Albert. He just can't get the hang of them, can he ...?

     The door jerked open. Death stood behind it, beaming proudly, as Albert staggered in, snow blowing in with him.

     'Blimey,  it's getting  really  parky,' said Albert.  'Any  sherry?' he added hopefully.

IT APPEARS NOT.

     Death looked  at the sock hooked on to the side  of the stove. It had a hole in it.

     A letter, in erratic handwriting, was attached  to  it. Death picked it up.

     THE  BOY WANTS A PAIR OF TROUSERS THAT HE DOESN'T HAVE TO SHARE, A HUGE MEAT PIE, A SUGAR MOUSE, 'A LOT OF TOYS' AND A PUPPY CALLED SCRUFF.

     'Ah, sweet,'  said Albert. 'I  shall  wipe away  a tear, 'cos what he's gettin', see, is this little wooden toy and an apple.' He held them out.

BUT THE LETTER CLEARLY

     'Yes, well, it's socio-economic factors again,

     right?'  said Albert 'The world'd be  in a  right mess  if everyone got what they asked for, eh?'

I GAVE THEM WHAT THEY WANTED IN THE STORE . . .

     'Yeah, and  that's  gonna cause a lot of trouble, master. All them "toy pigs that really  work". I didn't say nothing 'cos it  was  getting  the job done  but  you can't  go on  like  that.  What good's a  god who  gives  you everything you want?'

YOU HAVE ME THERE.

     'It's the hope that's important.  Big part of belief, hope. Give people jam today and  they'll just sit and eat it. jam tomorrow, now - that'll keep them going for ever.'

AND YOU MEAN THAT BECAUSE OF THIS THE POOR GET POOR THINGS AND THE RICH GET RICH THINGS?

     ' 's right,' said Albert. 'That's the meaning of Hogswatch.'

     Death nearly wailed.

     BUT I'M THE HOGFATHER! He looked embarrassed. AT THE MOMENT, I MEAN.

     'Makes no difference,' said Albert, shrugging. 'I remember when I was a nipper, one Hogswatch  I had my heart set on this huge model  horse they had in  the shop  ...' His face  creased  for a moment in  a  grim smile  of recollection. 'I remember I spent hours one day, cold as charity the weather was, I  spent  hours with my nose pressed up against the window ... until they heard me callin', and unfroze me. I saw them take it out of the window, someone was in there buying it, and, y'know, just for a second I  thought it really was going to be for me ... Oh. I dreamed of that toy  horse. It were red and white with a real saddle and everything. And rockers. I'd've killed for that horse.' He shrugged again. 'Not a chance, of course, 'cos  we didn't have a pot to piss in and we even `ad to spit on the bread to make it soft enough to eat ...'

PLEASE ENLIGHTEN ME. WHAT  IS  SO IMPORTANT ABOUT HAVING A POT  TO PISS IN?

     'It's ... it's more like a figure of speech, master. It means you're as poor as a church mouse.'

ARE THEY POOR?

     'Well ... yeah.'

BUT  SURELY  NOT MORE  POOR THAN ANY OTHER MOUSE? AND, AFTER ALL, THERE TEND TO BE LOTS OF CANDLES AND THINGS THEY COULD EAT.

     'Figure of speech again, master. It doesn't have to make sense.'

OH. I SEE. DO CARRY ON.

     'O' course,  I still hung up my stocking  on Hogswatch  Eve, and in the morning, you know, you know what? Our dad had put in  this little horse he'd carved his very own self ...'

     AH, said Death.  AND  THAT  WAS WORTH MORE THAN ALL  THE  EXPENSIVE TOY HORSES IN THE WORLD,EH?

     Albert gave him a beady look. 'No!' he said. 'It weren't.  All I  could think of was it wasnt the big horse in the window.'

     Death looked shocked.

BUT HOW MUCH BETTER TO HAVE A TOY CARVED WITH...

     'No. Only grown-ups think like that,' said

     Albert. 'You're a selfish little bugger when you're  seven. Anyway, Dad got ratted after lunch and trod on it.'

LUNCH?

     'All right, mebbe we had a bit of pork chipping tor the bread ...'

EVEN SO, THE SPIRIT OF HOGSWATCH...

     Albert sighed. 'If you like, master. If you like.'

     Death looked perturbed.

BUT SUPPOSING THE HOGFATHER HAD BROUGHT YOU THE WONDERFUL HORSE---

     'Oh, Dad would've flogged it for a couple of bottles,' said Albert.

BUT WE HAVE  BEEN  INTO HOUSES  WHERE THE  CHILDREN HAD  MANY  TOYS AND BROUGHT  THEM  EVEN  MORE TOYS,  AND  IN HOUSES LIKE  THIS THE  CHILDREN GET PRACTICALLY NOTHING.

     'Huh, we'd have given anything to get practically nothing when I were a lad,' said Albert.

     BE HAPPY WITH WHAT YOU'VE GOT, IS THAT THE IDEA?

     'That's about the size of it, master. A good god line, that. Don't give 'em too much and tell 'em to be happy with it. jam tomorrow, see.'

     THIS IS WRONG. Death  hesitated. I MEAN ... IT'S RIGHT TO BE HAPPY WITH WHAT YOU'VE GOT. BUT YOU'VE  GOT TO HAVE SOMETHING TO BE HAPPY ABOUT HAVING. THERE'S NO POINT IN BEING HAPPY ABOUT HAVING NOTHING.

     Albert  felt a  bit  out  of  his  depth in  this  new  tide  of social philosophy.

     'Dunno,' he said. 'I suppose people'd say they've got the moon and the stars and suchlike.'

     I'M SURE THEY WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO PRODUCE THE PAPERWORK.

     'All I know is, if Dad'd  caught us with a  big bag of  pricey toys wed just have got a ding round the earhole for nicking 'em.'

IT IS ... UNFAIR.

     'That's life, master.'

     BUT I'M NOT.

     'I meant this is how it's supposed to go, master,' said Albert.

NO. YOU MEAN THIS IS HOW IT GOES.

     Albert leaned against the stove and rolled himself  one of his horrible thin  cigarettes.  It was best  to let  the master work his own  way through these things.  He got  over them eventually. It  was like that business with the violin. For three days there was nothing but twangs  and broken strings, and  then he'd never  touched the thing again. That was the trouble, really. Everything the master did was a bit like that. When things got into his head you just had to wait until they leaked out again.