‘We’ve come to see Mister Hogan'.
Seamus, the stout uniformed man who'd just finished decorating the Christmas tree, put his cardboard box down, and ambled to the counter. 'Ye must be three important girls for the Editor of the Holly Branch to grant an audience,' he remarked. Hearing this, the littlest girl, whose nose was just about level with the counter, stood a mite taller, but not so tall as her eldest sister, Eilish, who looked Seamus straight in the eye. 'It's about the story we wrote,' she said. 'Mister Hogan said we should call in to discuss terms...' 'And Conditions', the littlest girl cut in. Seamus smiled, picked up the phone, and half turned away, muttered something about a 'syndicate of story tellers' ganging up on him at Reception. 'Right, so, girls, we'd better not keep his Lordship biting his nails,' he said,laying the phone down.

The visitors were surprised when he led them out of the modern building which they'd just entered, across the car park, and on to the steps of a three storey red-brick building that resembled a disused convent. He paused to adjust his tunic. They were, he informed them, about to enter the hallowed, the original, premises of the Provincial Times. Mister Hogan, he added, was soon to retire, and hadn't thought it worthwhile to move into the new, state of-the-art building. 'You mean he wouldn't move with the Times,' the tallest girl said, with a curling smile. Seamus didn't smile back, but squinted upward at the windows. All were dusty…except one on the second floor.
'If you want to bargain with Mister Hogan,' he said gravely, 'don't let him hear you saying anything like that. He has short arms and deep pockets. Short arms, girls, and deep pockets.'

The third girl, who hadn't spoken yet, and seemed content to hang back a little, was curious to know if Mister Hogan intended to come out of his retirement each year, just to edit the Holly Branch. Seamus gave her a keen look. 'That's what we're hoping,' he said. 'The old Holly Branch will probably wither without him. Ye can say it to him if ye like.' He ushered them into the building, down deserted corridors, past offices stuffed with dusty filing cabinets and up a creaky staircase to the first floor. Finally, they arrived at a door, distinguished by a brass nameplate. It read simply: Diarmuid Hogan. Before Seamus could knock, a voice that sounded timbery as the door itself told them to 'Come in'. It was very agreeable, the girls thought, to have a uniformed man open the door for them. And announce them, too! 'Your three contributors, Mister Hogan!'

The Editor of the Holly Branch was facing out the window, whistling, his hands thrust into his pockets as if there were no pressing reason to pull them out. After a long moment, he pivoted around and paced slowly across the room to meet them, evaluating each girl with the warm brown eye of an Italian tenor.

'Now,' he said, nodding his bearded face at the littlest girl, 'Are you Emily, Charlotte…?' The little girl frowned. 'Me? I'm NIAMH! Niamh is my name, Niamh,' she declared. 'I'm Eilish,' the tallest girl announced. 'Fionnula,' the third girl murmured, in the manner of one who wouldn't have minded being somewhere else. 'Niamh, Fionnula, Eilish', Mister Hogan murmured as he moved in behind his desk and enthroned himself within his huge leather-covered chair. 'An easy chair for the hard decisions,' he said in a way that made his visitors feel quite at home. 'Pull up some chairs, Seamus, yourself too. Sit down and make yourselves uncomfortable!'

Upon the desktop to his right hulked an ancient mechanical typewriter. As soon as his visitors had settled, he lay his hand upon it solemnly, as if swearing on the Bible. 'Quite a few gilded cages were rattled by this incorruptible old brute in its time. Does that statement ring true, Seamus?' he asked. 'As true as the Lutine Bell,' Seamus agreed. This answer must have been music to Mister Hogan's ears, for he clapped his hands in a sudden enthusiasm. 'Now, ladies "Snowman White and the Seven Dwarves", which one dreamed up THAT clever title?'

Eilish, the eldest girl, glanced at Fionnula. 'We both did,' she said with aplomb. 'But I probably wrote most of the actual story.' Fionnula's freckled face reddened, and she was beginning a retort when Niamh's shrill voice rang out. 'Fionnula wrote a LOT of it,' she protested, 'And only for me, Eilish would have spelled 'Dwarves' as D-W-A-R-F-S, and we'd all have looked stupid.' Mister Hogan's eyes twinkled. He linked his fingers together. Spelling and punctuation were important, he agreed. 'At Christmas time, there's 'abundance' on the kitchen table. But if the mince pies jump out of their plates to waltz with the doughnuts, then you'd say there's' A-BUN-DANCE on the table. Do you see my point, Niamh?'

Niamh nodded. ‘That's funny,’ she giggled. ‘I'll tell it to my schoolteacher’. Mister Hogan turned his attention to Fionuala and Eilish. Pounding himself upon the chest, he said 'When this old grizzly was a cub reporter, the newsprint had to be hand set, letter by letter. So when the typesetter was under pressure from the newsroom - like when the Titanic went down - it was very easy to mistake the letter 'p' for the letter 'q'. You couldn't hide it, either, because it was there in black and white. I remember one old fella who'd be so ashamed when it happened to him that he'd disappear for an hour. He'd leave a little note behind him. T'would read: 'Gone to the qub for a quick qint, my dear brethern.'

Fionnula raised her hand. ‘Our English teacher used tell us to mind our 'P's and 'Q's. She's retired now', she said. Mister Hogan wryly nodded. 'People who remember that advice mostly are', he said, half to himself.

'Right, ladies,' Mister Hogan said, rousing himself, 'I suppose we'd better start discussing our Terms'. 'And Conditions,' Eilish interjected, thinking to head off her little sister at the pass. Mister Hogan leaned forward and in a low, confiding voice, he told them that the Holly Branch could afford them sixty euros for their Christmas story. Niamh's eyes widened. 'Sixty Euros…that's PLENTY,' she exclaimed, 'I can buy Mammy and Daddy a present EACH with MY sixty Euros!'
Mister Hogan smiled, stood up, and ambled thoughtfully to the window. He couldn't help overhearing Eilish hissing at little Niamh to stop interfering - to realize that sixty Euros was the grand total. And that she, Niamh, wasn't entitled to anything, because all she'd done was correct one letter of one silly word! He also heard Fionnula telling her elder sister not to be so waspish. Eilish was thirteen. Little Niamh was only eight…and Mister Hogan seemed to be taking a liking to her.

He came back to his desk, and sat himself down, pretending not to notice how crestfallen Niamh had become. ‘I’ll tell you what I'll do, girls,' he said, 'I'll ring Sheridan up in Accounts. He might give ye an extra few Euro, if he's in the mood. Don't be too
hopeful, though. He's a skinflint, - a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, clutching, coveteous old sinner!'

Mister Hogan animated this description by grasping and wrenching his beard, and with each grasp, some of the shyness was wrenched from Fionnula's face. 'That's from Scrooge,' she murmured, "We're doing it for our Christmas play. I'm the Ghost of Christmas Present.' Making some remark about the 'Christmas Spirit', Mister Hogan picked up the clunky black telephone on his desk. He twirled a number, then another. Ringings could be heard far off within the empty corridors, and Fionnula thought that each forlorn ringing brought a shadow to Mister Hogan's brown eyes. 'Old Sheridan must think you want something,' Seamus remarked. 'That's the only explanation, Seamus,' Mister Hogan sighed, 'I'd better go see him, if my three contributors will excuse me!' Seamus chuckled. 'I'm sure they'll have no objection, seeing as it's in a good cause,' he said.

After a while the desk telephone had rung like a fire brigade. Seamus took the call, listening, nodding. He put his hand over the mouthpiece. 'The Terms, ladies, are thirty Euros for each of the three of ye. How does that sound...?' Gleeful whisperings assured him that it sounded just fine! And moments later - a little out of breath - Mister Hogan was back. Handing each girl a small white envelope, he said that Mister Sheridan had grumbled a good deal, as well as predicting that this might just be the last nail in the coffin of the venerable and beloved Holly Branch.

Only for a few seconds did Niamh ponder her envelope. Then, with a big sigh, she placed it upon Mister Hogan's desk, as if it had fallen accidentally upon the carpet, and she was simply picking it up. 'I don't want the Holly Branch to die,' she said, with earnestness in her blue eyes. 'Anyway, I only wrote one letter of one word.'

To Mister Hogan's surprise, Eilish pointed out - very gently - that Niamh had been of invaluable help to herself and Fionnula in their writing of "Snowman White and the Seven Dwarfs.' 'Dawrves,' Mister Hogan smiled, 'D-WA-R-V-E-S.' He patted little Niamh's envelope with his hand, seeming unsure of what he should do with it. Or what he should say next. He tugged his beard, as if to ring some bell of inspiration within his head. Almost at once, his brow cleared, and he looked thoughtfully upon little Niamh. 'When you accepted the Terms,' he said, 'I assumed that you'd also accepted the Conditions. To be fair, you didn't know about them until now…but the main one is that each of you must write me a story for the Holly Branch in twelve month's time. You do accept that Condition, I hope, because if you don't agree…all of you…the deal is null – void - kaput!'

Eilish and Fionnula eagerly agreed. Niamh hesitated…but not for long. Her two sisters were looking at her, hardly breathing, and holding their white envelopes a little closer. 'We'll help you,' they said, simultaneously. 'Okay' Niamh said. Mister Hogan pressed her white envelope between her hands, and was in the process of warning her to mind her 'P's & Q's' when the phone rang. It was their mother, waiting for them in Reception.

Mister Hogan accompanied them down, and shook hands with them formally, upon the steps of the building. It was almost dark now, and across the car park they could see the Christmas tree which Seamus had been decorating when first they arrived. They could see their mother chatting with the receptionist and pointing out what she liked about the tree. Niamh, at the last moment, had something to say. 'Mammy's been Christmas shopping,' she said, 'She wanted me out of the way because she thinks I still believe in Santa. So I was very lucky to meet you.'

Seamus bent down to her. 'You weren't half as lucky as we were,' he said.

The two men watched their three visitors hurry away. Seamus was asking Mister Hogan if he'd think of sticking with the old Holly Branch for another few years. 'I don't know,' Mister Hogan murmured. 'I doubt if they'd keep a new fangled office for just one old-fashioned trooper. What do you think yourself?' Seamus rubbed his two hands together in the frosty air.
'I'd say they would, you know. Christmas wouldn't be the same without the old Holly branch - and the old Holly Branch wouldn't be the same without you. I don't think they'd say ninety Euros to those three little fairies, though...old Sheridan would have had a fit!'
Mister Hogan laughed. 'Old Sheridan didn't live long enough to be visited by Three Spirits!' he said.