Harvey went down on his haunches and dug at the dirt with his bare hands. The ground was soft, and gave off the sweet smell of fertility.

“Strange, isn’t it?” said a voice.

He looked up from his labors, both his fists full of dirt. A man a little older than his father was standing a few yards from him, smiling.

“What are you talking about?” Harvey asked.

“The flowers. The ground,” he said. “Maybe the earth has its own magic—good magic, I mean—and it’s buried Hood’s memory forever.”

“You know about Hood?” Harvey said.

The man nodded. “Oh yes.”

“What exactly do you know?” Harvey’s mom asked. “Our son here’s been telling us such strange stories…”

“They’re all true,” the man said.

“You haven’t even heard them,” Harvey’s dad replied.

“You should trust your boy,” the man said. “I have it on the best authority that he’s a hero.”

Harvey’s dad stared at his son with a twitch of a smile on his face. “Really?” he said. “Were you one of Hood’s prisoners?”

“Not me,” the man said.

“Then how do you know?”

The man glanced over his shoulder, and there at the bottom of the slope stood a woman in a white dress.

Harvey studied this stranger, trying to make out her face, but her wide-brimmed hat kept her features in shadow. He started to get to his feet, intending to take a closer look, but the man said: “Don’t…please. She sent me in her place, just to say hello. She remembers you the way you are young, that is—and she’d like you to remember her the same way.”

“Lulu…” Harvey murmured.

The man neither confirmed nor denied this. He simply said to Harvey: “I am much obliged to you, young man. I hope to be as fine a husband to her as you were a friend.”

“Husband?” Harvey mouthed.

“How time flies,” the man said, consulting his watch. “We’re late for lunch. May I shake your hand, young sir?”

“It’s dirty,” Harvey warned, letting the earth run between the fingers of his right hand.

“What could be better between us,” the man replied with a smile, “than this…healing earth?”

He took Harvey’s hand, shook it, and with a nod to Harvey’s mom and dad hurried back down the slope.

Harvey watched as he spoke to the woman in the white dress; saw her nod; saw her smile in his direction. Then they were both gone, out into the street and away.

“Well…” said Harvey’s dad, “…it seems your Mr. Hood existed after all.”

“So you believe me?” Harvey asked.

“Something happened here,” came the reply, “and you were a hero. I believe that.”

“Then that’s enough,” said Harvey’s mom. “You don’t have to keep digging, sweetie. Whatever’s under there should stay buried.”

Harvey was about to empty his left hand of dirt when his dad said: “Let me have that,” and opened his hand.

“Really?” said Harvey.

“I’ve heard a little good magic’s always useful,” came his father’s reply. “Isn’t that right?”

Harvey smiled, and poured a fistful of earth into his father’s palm.

“Always,” he said.

The days that followed were unlike any Harvey had ever known. Though there was no more talk of Hood, or of the House, or of the green hill upon which it had once stood, the subject was a part of every look and laugh that passed between him and his parents.

He knew they had only the vaguest sense of what had happened to them, but they were all three agreed on one thing: that it was fine to be together again.

Time would be precious from now on. It would tick by, of course, as it always had, but Harvey was determined he wouldn’t waste it with sighs and complaints. He’d fill every moment with the seasons he’d found in his heart: hopes like birds on a spring branch; happiness like a warm summer sun; magic like the rising mists of autumn. And best of all, love; love enough for a thousand Christmases.