"Jeanette," she answered, heartened by the question. She didn't know Donnie. "Good bye, Jeanette." Donnie reached for the bottle under the table.

"Oh Donnie, it took all the courage I've got to get myself here. Don't chase me away." Jeanette's lip trembled slightly. She looked ready to bolt.

Donnie extended the bottle. "Here, have a swig." She grinned wickedly, looking pleased with herself.

Jeanette took the bottle and continued talking, hoping to divert Donnie's attention long enough to hide it. Jeanette talked as if her life depended on it. And as she talked she watched. As dusk stole darker and darker into the room and snow whirled outside the windows, she talked against Donnie's drunkenness and waitedfor sleep to drown her.

When Donnie woke early on the day before Christmas there was a mountain between her ears. She lay in bed where she dimly remembered having been escorted-Who had put her to bed? That mousy little thing! She sat up, her head reeling, and looked out the bedroom door. No one there. She lifted herself gently out of the bed and tiptoed through the apartment. There were no butts, no cans, no crumbs, no dirty dishes. That little brown thing had cleaned up the whole mess! What a good deeder! Donnie fixed herself a Prairie Oyster to aid in the reduction of her magnificent head, and as she drank it she thought about the astonishing girl named Jeanette.

She didn't like that name. Little Jennie Mouse, that's what she was. Donnie smiled to herself at the absurd name. She reached over and turned on the radio. Carols were still playing, but they sounded so sweet. Outside her window there was still snow, but it reminded her of Little Jennie Mouse standing at the door, offering a happy Christmas out of her good heart. Donnie felt shame well up in her at the brutality of the treatment she had offered in return.

"And I don't even know her last name. How can I tell her what she has done for me? I won't see her until I go back to work." Donnie looked ruefully at her crazy tree. "I didn't do right by you, either," she said to the little tree. She put out her hand to touch a decoration and saw something white on one of the branches. It was a little folded note and on it was written "I'll see you."

"Yes, but when?" Donnie thought, excitement and disappointment chasing each other around her heart.

There was a small knock at the door and the note flew out of her hand as she ran to answer. There was nobody there. "What is this?" she asked aloud. A tiny motion caught her eye and she looked down. There on the floor was a fluffy brown

puppy.

"Well who are you?" she said to him. He wagged all six inches of himself and bumbled over to her foot. She stooped down, captivated, and scratched behind one floppy ear. She looked up suddenly. Jeanette was standing flat against the wall, watching her and smiling a secret smile. Donnie straightened up.

"Little Jennie Mouse!" Jeanette's smile vanished and apprehension took its place.

Donnie laughed. "I'm sober, really I am. I didn't even look for the bottle." Jeanette's smile stole back into her eyes.

Christmas was real for Donnie that year. She and her Jennie and Payroll, the new puppy, kept themselves warm at the true fire of Christmas. Love burned brightly, freely given and freely taken. Donnie was even persuaded to write forgiveness to her parents. And the spirit of Victoria sang distantly in the frosty air, benign and having no longer the power to hurt.

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