FRANGEA WAS A land so full of people determined to fulfil their own needs before others that Vetta found such hunger a little frightening at times. Thus the tale of Widow Mint was a joy in itself and she determined to seek an understanding of this exceptional lady. There was something inspirational in the thought of such generosity right there in Cherryball Flats, or rather in the more prestigious northern section known as Cherryball Heights for it looked down in every way upon its less affluent neighbour.

Thus Vetta determined after more than one moment of indecision to pay a visit to the Twilit Estate.

Only, things were a little more complicated than she expected when she wandered out early one morning while everyone else in Dorm Wonder were still sleeping, though Esper muttered something about being broken as she passed her bed very quietly.

The earliness of the hour forced Vetta to forego a scrunching session upon the gravel and she rustled more discreetly across the lawn instead.

"Nice morning for an amble, miss," the gatekeeper said cheerfully. "You're the first one of the day," he added in impressed tones.

"Oh, I am not going for an amble walk sir," Vetta said carefully. "My steps have a different purpose."

With that she ambled down the lane that curved away from the forest and towards the upper settlement nearest to Miss Plazenby's. A couple of slightly confusing tram rides brought her to the Twilit Estate, a grand affair marked by a boundary wall in pale pink granite. Here there was a gatekeeper too, a much taller individual in a sharp uniform. He had to be tall to match the gates he guarded. They positively towered over Vetta as she stood there looking up at the black iron railings.

"Anything I can do for you miss?" the man said from his box by the side. A growl from within suggested a guard dog was in residence too and Vetta took a couple of steps back.

"Oh," she gasped.

"Don't worry miss. He's well secured and trained not to devour harmless little girls," the man reassured her. "Please to state your business. You stand before the entrance to Twilit Estate, a world within yet apart from the greater world, where lives are quietly lived while waiting for inevitable closure." This sounded like a speech so Vetta responded accordingly in the only way she knew.

"I am Vetta Mindal from the Blessed Hub of Poldorama," she declared quietly, gazing up at and beyond the gatekeeper and his shiny cap to palm trees that peeped over the pink granite walls.

"You've come a long way. Ah, you're at that school on the mountain, the exclusive one." This revelation made the man stiffen a little.

"Yes, I have come a long way to learn new things. May I see one of the Twilit persons as I think I may learn new things from them also?"

"Name?"

"Vetta-"

"Of the person you wish to see?"

"I am terribly sorry. Widow Mint I think she is called. I have never met her and she does not know I exist."

"Sounds like she soon will."

The gatekeeper pressed a button on the side of his box.

"A Vetta Mindal from that crazy school on the mountain, wishes to see Widow Mint for reasons I can't fathom. She appears unarmed. You'll send a maid? Right you are."

He then turned to the waiting girl.

"Stand right there so you can be seen by surveillance. Someone will come fetch you."

"Thank you. You are very kind and I apologise for any trouble caused," Vetta replied as nervousness mounted within her. It all sounded so grand. Someone coming all the way from wherever to fetch her and take her to the tragic and generous widow in her mansion on the luxurious estate.

As she stared through the bars of the gate a sound behind her made her turn. A small trundle cart had appeared from round a corner driven by a dark-haired young woman in a pale pink costume.

"Hop in youngster," she said brightly.

"Um," Vetta said, unsure who this might be.

"How're things in the Mint household, Veltra?" the guard said, raising his cap by way of greeting.

"So so. Bit restless the mistress is, on account of having so much wealth she can't give it away fast enough, bless her." Then she smiled at Vetta. "You want to see Widow Mint? Hop aboard."

"Thank you."

Vetta took her seat and the vehicle whispered along a smooth track that followed the curve of the great wall.

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"That entrance back there is just for the tourists. They like a show. We go in this way," the maid explained and then shot the cart briskly through narrow posts beneath a rising panel and they entered a different world from the noise and bustle of Cherryball Flats, for this was the Heights.

***

TWILIT ESTATE was as the gatekeeper had described it, a place of quiet and calm, a placid oasis amid the bustle of a busy world. Here elderly folk of a certain wealth passed their days awaiting that final moment when they could rest up and no longer be bothered by sore knee joints.

Winding through flower gardens, palm clusters and a few glimmering pools of very blue water, Vetta watched various low level buildings glide by amid colourful shrubbery and triple-glazed entranceways.

"Here we are," Veltra the maid said, halting the buggy by a series of ramps.

"Why, you could drive right into the house," Vetta said with a snigger.

"I could, only my mistress would complain about the tread marks on the carpet. Please to follow me and I'll see if Widow Mint is in, awake or still alive. Any of the three should do."

She left the girl in a dimly lit hallway full of soft and thick rugs. Amid the more distant gloom she could make out ornate mirrors and shelves upon which stood vases not dissimilar to that seen in Bonsie's shop and Vetta thrilled at the sight. She went over to examine the priceless items with awe. To imagine the owner simply taking a vase down, giving it to her maid to simply hand over to a charity shop owner impressed Vetta very much. Her heart swelled with pride at finding such generosity. It was like free cheese.

"Why hello," a soft voice said from the gloom and Vetta jumped back. A small old lady in a pale cardigan similar in colour to the maid's uniform tottered forward, bright eyes catching what little light there was in the hall.

"Hello," Vetta replied shyly and began fidgeting with her school tie of blue and yellow. The lady noticed the gesture.

"You're a Plazenby girl," she said. "I'm surprised to find you here asking for things. Usually it is a district delegation wanting a donation for some fund raising prize or a councillor drumming up finance for a social project in his voting area." The lady sighed. "No matter. Whatever lamb wanders my way I feel bound to help. My Gordot, bless his departed soul, terrible accident, always said charity is about giving stuff away. Happy to do so. He left me more stuff than I'll ever need. Seems a shame to waste the gesture. I so enjoy making all those little faces happy at the orphanage over Woebegone way. Gives me a sense of joy it does, blessing me with the reward of doing good."

Vetta was about to say something, realising this was the Widow Mint herself.

"I noticed you admiring a vase? Take it child. It is yours. See? I feel more worthy already, knowing I've given you something."

"Please ma'am, I don't want it," Vetta managed to blurt out a little desperately. "I just wanted to," and she paused, unsure of what she actually wanted. Witnessing a great soul performing deeds of generosity perhaps. The speech of the lady though puzzled her.

"Well," that same generous lady huffed. "How ungrateful. I know, I know, not every recipient appreciates the gift with the right kind of gratefulness. Yet I make my sacrifices nonetheless. Please, if you wish it, the thing is yours. I am tired now and shall take a nap. Thank you for coming. Goodbye."

With that the Widow Gwinnie Mint faded back into the gloom and somewhere a timepiece chimed melodiously.

Vetta looked at the vase, then at the spot upon the thick rug where the widow had stood and finally the pale pink uniform of Veltra the maid brightened the place up a little more.

"Well, I'm a little surprised," she said. "My mistress offers you a pretty gift and you refuse it. What do they teach you at that crazy school?"

"I am confused," Vetta admitted. "Your mistress gives her beautiful things away as if she does not care about their value."

"That's about it. Fills her with a sense of significance it does. Makes me laugh. All that money and she just doesn't care about it. I don't think she actually knows whether something is rare or not. It's the giving she values."

"That is very generous of her," Vetta said happily.

"Is it? Seems she could invest, realise and donate by the coin. What hungry soul wants a vase or bangle?"

"Papa says all wealth can be changed and changed again till it reaches its true worth."

"A full belly, clothes on the back kind of worth," the maid said with a laugh.

"Yes," and Vetta beamed at the thought her revered father's wisdom could be transferred at its true value from one land to another.

"Well, if this thing is not to your liking," and the maid went over to the vase Vetta had admired and gave it a poke with her finger. It tottered a moment with indecision and then plunged to its doom. As soon as it hit the edge of a neighbouring cabinet its thin ceramic shell shattered.

Vetta was horrified to witness such destruction.

The maid exclaimed in mock annoyance and gathered the fragments with efficient thoroughness. She was about to put them in the bin when the girl came up to her, eyes wide with concern.

"May I?" Vetta said. There were unshed tears in her eyes.

"May you what, my dear?" the maid said, smiling indulgently on this queer, inoffensive creature with the bright curls.

"Perhaps I might be able to fix it," Vetta said breathlessly. "I've seen others do such wonders."

"Bless the child," the maid exclaimed with a laugh. "Now you want what you refused moments ago? It's just broken bits now."

"May I?" Vetta said again. There was something so earnest in the girl's demeanour that the maid shrugged, sought a bag and tumbled the pieces into it.

"There you go," she said indulgently. "Mind you don't cut yourself on them sharp bits. Otherwise, enjoy your puzzle. A mighty challenge."

"Thank you. This is very kind of you. Generosity is one of the five wellsprings of joy."

With that the girl pottered off clutching her bag of fragments, suddenly feeling strangely relieved.

There are many ways of giving.

Most are kindly meant though some are not so. Giving way against overwhelming odds or merely a place in a queue brings a positive outcome not always perceived immediately. For with one it gives a chance of survival and for the other it is a consideration which can only bring gratitude.

Even though a gift might be of no value whatsoever, the receiving of it could become a gift in itself. The chance to give someone what they craved by giving, without the receiver acquiring a boon was a delicate and difficult gesture. Those fragments had no intrinsic value yet the exchange of worth was priceless.

What Vetta Mindal gave that day was immeasurable for who could weigh such fine feelings amid a jostling world where most valued self over everything else?