It was four days before Christmas, and no sign of snow in the air. Everything in town lay still, as if Old Man Winter had forgotten the snow everyone was wishing for.

Grampa and I were working at the department store. He was Santa Claus and I was his helper. He did the ho-hoing and asked kids what they wanted for Christmas. I was the candy-cane-and-present-passer-outer. Our hours were from four until seven-thirty.

Grampa's beard was real. Some of the kids who tugged it were quite surprised. It wasn't pure white, but it was bushy and full. When Grampa ho-hoed, his stomach shook. He was Santa Claus, no question. Most of the lap-sitters were under ten. They were pretty much alike, asking for bikes, dolls, radios, games.

But one little girl was different. Her mother brought her up, and Grampa hoisted her onto his lap. Her name was Tina. She was blind. "What do you want for Christmas, Tina?" He asked. "Snow," she answered shyly.

Grampa smiled. His eyes twinkled. "We'll see what we can do about that. But, how about something for you, yourself? Something special?" Tina hesitated, then whispered something in Grandpa's ear. I couldn't hear her words, but I saw a smile creep over Grampa's face. "Sure, Tina, " was all he said.

He took her hands in his and placed them on his cheeks. His eyes closed and he sat there smiling as the girl began to sculpt his face with her fingers. She paused here and there to linger, paying close attention to every wrinkle and whisker. She seemed to be memorizing with her fingers the laugh lines under Grampa's eyes and at the corners of his mouth. She stroked his beard and rolled its wiry ringlets between her thumbs and forefingers. When she finished, she paused to rest her palms on Grampa's shoulders. He opened his eyes. They were twinkling.

Suddenly her arms flew out, encircling Grampa's neck in a crushing hug. "Oh, Santa," she cried. "You look just like I knew you would-perfect, just perfect."

As Tina's mother lifted her down from his lap, Grampa turned his head towards me. He smiled, blinked, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

That night when my grandmother came to pick us up, I watched her help Grampa shift over from the Santa chair into his wheelchair. As she was positioning his limp legs on the footrests, she said, "So, Santa, how was your day?" He looked at me, then at Gramma, and pressed his lips together as he said with a tiny smile, "Perfect. Just perfect."

Outside it began to snow.