At the very far end of the North Pole, where the snow squeaks when you walk on it and the stars seem close enough to tap with a spoon, two old elves were left behind on Christmas Eve.

They didn’t mind.

The workshop was finally quiet. No hammers. No arguing toys. No bells jingling themselves silly. One elf had made supper, humming the wrong tune on purpose. There was stew thick enough to stand a spoon in, bread toasted just a bit too much, and mugs of something warm that made their ears feel uncommonly cheerful.

They ate like people who had nowhere else to be. Outside, the snow kept falling, as polite as could be.

“Early night?” one elf asked.

“Wild idea,” said the other.

The elves climbed into bed while Christmas Eve was still stretching its legs; and promptly each of them dreamed of thrilling things. Flying shelves. Toys that built themselves. Daring naps taken in the middle of the day.

Morning arrived wrapped in fresh snow. Everything was whiter than before, as if the world had decided to start over. The two elves felt full of vigour. They each had irrepressible grins; they felt full of surprises, as if they had pockets full of promises. They spoke of endless toys, of happiness that didn’t run out, of joy that grew back faster the more you gave it away.

Yet it wasn’t their custom to behave so frivolously. After all they were far beyond the days of youth. So, with a wink and a little sparkle they left behind the fantasies and reclaimed the less buoyant but more mature world of reality.

But before the elves could say a single sensible thing, the roof rumbled and Santa returned from his great Christmas Eve tour. He looked tired and pleased in exactly the right proportions.

“And I didn’t forget,” he said.

From the sack came two gifts, chosen with care. Not grand. Not loud. Just right.

Outside, the sun shone magnificently under a clear blue sky, and the world suddenly looked very favourable indeed.

The elves swept the floor, set things straight, and began planning the New Year’s celebration. There would be lights. Possibly hats. Definitely cake.

Standing together at the door, watching the snow sparkle, they realized something important. They were each other’s best and most faithful friend. A little outside things. A bit forgotten by the bustle. And happier than they’d ever been.

They hadn’t needed to be more or do more. Being themselves had been enough.

And that, they decided, was the very best gift of all.