Elspeth looked up grinning from Scrood's now spent member and licked her lips. The tears on her cheeks proved the effectiveness of the birching. "Now uncle," she beamed, "I'd say there's at least two men enjoyed this Crispness."

Scrood laughed. "Indeed, my dear," he told her, "quite the second best Crispness of my life." Elspeth pouted until he smiled wistfully. "I've had few enough to celebrate, but there was one, a long time ago, as I think shall never be surpassed."

She smiled then. "Your first, I'll vow," she agreed. "One never quite matches that, does one? I'll never forget my first with my husband, although he was not that then and father would have horsewhipped him had he known." All three laughed. "'Twas only his hand, and we'd need be careful not to leave marks father would notice, but it was marvelous."

"It was that!" Red agreed. "You was a minx even then, love, offering me the rein's end when ye knew I daren't use it." They laughed again.

"Will ye stay the afternoon, uncle?" Elspeth offered. "We've wine and birches aplenty."

"A most kind offer, my dear," Scrood allowed, "but I must decline. There's another debt I must pay, and one that hangs rather heavy I'll vow."

She kissed him again and smiled. "If ye pay it as ye did me, I assure you your creditor will be well satisfied."

"I hope so," he said wistfully.

Another brisk walk brought him to his destination. "Damme if it wasn't a sight easier traveling with a ghost," he chuckled. He knocked at the door and let himself in. The room was not so gay as he remembered, but neither was it so drab as the ghost had shown it. The table was not littered with eviction notices, but it held no wine either. The room seemed empty until a small voice asked: "What may I do for you?" Scrood's heart jumped in his chest, recognizing the speaker. She wore no festive gown, as the spirit had told him. Her dress was not yet so faded, but obviously the same as he had seen. He realized that she was beautiful.

"Rather," he answered, "what may I do for you, so long in debt as I am."

"Debt?" she asked, obviously recognizing neither her visitor nor understanding his message.

"Many years now," he continued, turning her way, "I have failed to make even minimum payments, and Crispness has suffered for it, as have you. I have come to beg your pardon."

Recognition dawned in her face. "Ebenezer? Be it really you?"

"It is," he said, "if you will have me. I fear you have little enough reason to welcome me."

Wary, she approached from the other side of the table. "Why have you come back, Ebenezer, after so many years?"

"What I ask myself is how I could have stayed away," he said, shaking his head. "I abandoned Crispness and all that it meant, and I have only just come to know how foolish I have been."

Tears formed in Ashley's eyes. "I have tried to forget Crispness, but I have never quite been able. It was so wonderful. I never felt anything so thrilling as papa's brush in your hand."

"If you will let me,"Scrood said, clearing his throat, "I will try to make it wonderful again." From his pocket, he took the thing he had hunted for when he arose, his hairbrush. Her eyes widened.

"I have no wine," she mused.

"And I know a cellar with wine untouched for years," smiled Scrood. "May I invite you to my home?"

"For Crispness?" she asked.

"Forever," he answered.

She smiled and the cares of years dropped from her. "I have missed many Crispnesses," she smiled slyly. "May we not celebrate more often to make them up?"

"Every day, my dear," answered Scrood. "There will be no woman in the city who can boast of the holiday as well kept."

She came into his arms. "May I have a new gown for the purpose? A short one, to save time?"

Scrood laughed. "A necklace perhaps? Might as well be businesslike in the saving of time."

She laughed and kissed him passionately.

*****

It was said of Scrood and his wife that the spirit of Crispness glowed in their eyes (and other places) so brightly as to dispel even the gloom of winter. On the appointed day, a jeroboam stood on their table, and any who knocked at their door were served. The question of the hairbrush was soon answered when the back became so thin as to allow the bristles to escape. Even Red and Elspeth came to envy the scope of their uncle's celebration.

Bob Crotchit became Scrood's new partner, and moved his wife to a new home where they too, celebrated more often than the holiday required.

Old Wysiwyg, th e cares of his daughter removed, lived well and happily, sharing a bottle with his wife on Crispness. He marked the birth of three new Scroods, and nodded happily when his youngest daughter's tears of happiness proved her husband's love.

Even Gnarly, long in his grave, felt the warmth his warning had engendered.

And the ghosts, their mission accomplished, told each other that the mobs and boxes and chaos might wait for another century.

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