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For Duncan
First published in Great Britain 1985
by Methuen Children’s Books Ltd
Reissued 2012
by Egmont UK Limited
The Yellow Building
1 Nicholas Road
London W11 4AN
Text copyright © 1985 Jeff Brown
Illustrations copyright © 2012 by the Trust
u/w/o Richard C. Brown a/k/a/Jeff Brown
f/b/o Duncan Brown
First e-book edition 2014
ISBN 978 1 4052 0783 6
eISBN 978 1 7803 1222 4
www.egmont.co.uk
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Please note: Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont cannot take responsibility for any third party content or advertising. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.
CONTENTS
Cover
Title page
Dedication and Copyright
Prologue
1 Sarah
2 The Sleigh
3 Snow City
4 Sarah’s Father
5 The Letters
6 Going Home
7 Christmas
Back Series Promotional Page
She was the sort of little girl who liked to be sure of things, so she went all over Snow City, checking up.
The elves had done their work.
At the Post Office, Mail Elves had read the letters, making lists of who wanted what.
In the great workshops – the Doll Room, the Toy Plant, the Game Mill – Gift Elves had filled the orders, taking care as to colour and size and style.
In the Wrap Shed the gifts lay ready, wrapped now in gay paper with holly and pine cones, sorted by country, by city or village, by road or lane or street.
The Wrap Elves teased her. ‘Don’t trust us, eh? . . . Snooping, we call this, Miss!’
‘Pooh!’ said the little girl. ‘Well done, elves! Good work!’
But at home in Snow City Square, all was not well.
‘Don’t slam the door, dear,’ said her mother weeping. ‘Your father’s having his nap.’
‘Mother! What’s wrong?’
‘He won’t go this year, he says!’ the mother sobbed. ‘He’s been so cross lately, but I never –’
‘Why ? Why won’t he go?’
‘They’ve lost faith, don’t care any more, he says! Surely not everyone, I said. Think of your favourite letter, the one by your desk! He just growled at me!’
‘Pooh!’ said the girl. ‘It’s not fair! Really! I mean, everything’s ready! Why –’
‘Not now, dear,’ said the mother. ‘It’s been a dreadful day.’
In the little office at the back of the house, the girl studied the letter her mother had mentioned, framed with others on a wall:
I am a regular boy, except that I got flat, the letter said. From an accident. I was going to ask for new clothes, but my mother already bought them. She had to, because of the flatness. So I’m just writing to say don’t bother about me. Have a nice holiday. My father says be careful driving, there are lots of bad drivers this time of year.
The girl thought for a moment, and an idea came to her. ‘Hmmmm . . . Well, why not ?’ she said.
She looked again at the letter.
The name LAMBCHOP was printed across the top, and an address. It was signed ‘Stanley, USA.’
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