A Treasury of Christmas Stories by Editors of Adams Media Page A

down on the floor and poured out the contents of the bag. Then I counted. Two hundred. All two hundred. Tanks, jeeps, guns, soldiers, everything.
    I put each soldier in place, lining them up as Freddie had taught me to do. I organized them into the good guys and the bad guys. I put the kneeling men with their guns on the front line. Then I began. “Bang, bang. Vroom, vroom. Chuggle, chuggle. ” But it was no use. They just didn’t come to life without Freddie. I sat for the longest time, just staring at the soldiers, missing Freddie.
    When my mother returned, she glanced at the soldiers, all neatly lined up on the floor, and asked, “Where’s Freddie?” The natural question. “I know he must be nearby.” She smiled and pointed, “The soldiers …”
    After all, Freddie and his soldiers were one.
    â€œHe’s not here,” I said.
    She looked at me, puzzled.
    â€œFreddie gave me all his soldiers. He wants me to have them.”
    My mother gasped. I remember that. She gasped.
    â€œYou can’t take them,” she said. “Freddie loves those soldiers. You have to give them back.”
    I knew she was right. They were Freddie’s. But something in me wanted to hold onto them. My mother must have sensed that in my expression.
    â€œI have an idea,” she said. “Give Freddie his soldiers, but you keep one.” She waited.
    Of course! It was the most brilliant idea I had ever heard. I could keep one!
    â€œOkay!” I said, flooded with relief, as I suspect my mother was also.
    â€œI’ll go over and speak to Freddie’s mother,” she said. I was further relieved that I wasn’t alone in this now.
    My mother returned after about ten minutes. “I’m going to tell you something,” she said, “but you must promise not to tell Freddie.”
    I nodded. I loved it when my mother confided in me.
    â€œFreddie has been crying for hours,” she said. “He misses his soldiers but he told his mother he wouldn’t ask for them back. He wants you to have them.”
    My heart sunk. I felt so awful that I hurt inside. I had made Freddie, my best friend Freddie, cry.
    â€œYou’ve got to give the soldiers back to Freddie. Tell him you love them and want them more than anything but you want him to have them.”
    I put the soldiers back into the crumpled brown paper bag, one by one, careful not to damage any of his treasure. I took my mother’s hand and the bag, and we went over and rang Freddie’s bell. Freddie’s mother answered and called for Freddie. He came to the door, his eyes red and puffy from crying. I said nothing.
    Then, “Freddie, I can’t keep these. I love them more than anything but you love them more and they’re yours.”
    Freddie didn’t look happy. Rather, he looked crestfallen. Then I understood.
    â€œBut I’d like to keep one. This one,” I said as I reached into my pocket and pulled out a soldier. “Meet Sergeant Freddie!”
    Freddie’s face lit up.
    â€œCan I keep him?” I asked tentatively.
    Freddie nodded enthusiastically. “That’s a great idea!” he said, reaching out and accepting the brown bag from me. Then he poured out 199 soldiers and began to set them up.
    â€œCan she stay awhile?” He looked up at my mother.
    â€œFor just a few minutes,” my mother answered, smiling. “We have to catch the six o’clock train.”
    I dropped down on the floor and began playing, watching Freddie bring the soldiers back to life again. It was magic.
    On the train ride home, my mother and I sat together, behind my grandparents. We were both very quiet. “Do you have the soldier?” my mother asked. “You mean Sergeant Freddie,” I corrected and pulled him out of my pocket. “See? He’s right here. I’m taking Freddie back to New York, and I’m going to keep him by my bed. I’m going to