“Why is that, son?” His father looked concerned. “I know there’s really nothing to worry about,” Jonas explained,
“and that every adult has been through it. I know you have, Father, and you too, Mother.
But it’s the Ceremony that I’m apprehensive about. It’s almost December.”
Lily looked up, her eyes wide. “The Ceremony of Twelve,” she whispered in an awed voice.
Even the smallest children—Lily’s age and younger—knew that it lay in the future for each of them.
“I’m glad you told us of your feelings,” Father said. “Lily,” Mother said, beckoning to the little girl,
“Go on now and get into your nightclothes. Father and I are going to stay here and talk to Jonas for a while.”
Lily sighed, but obediently she got down from her chair. “Privately?” she asked. Mother nodded.
“Yes,” she said, “this talk will be a private one with Jonas.”
Two
Jonas watched as his father poured a fresh cup of coffee. He waited.
“You know,” his father finally said, “every December was exciting to me when I was young.
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