“Really? That little shack?” I wondered aloud. It was quite a sad and lonely thing to look at. As we drew nearer, I could see that it was indeed a small, strange house of sorts.

“That paint looks pretty new. Does someone live here?” I asked.

Despite a fairly fresh coat of white paint, the little house looked a dingy yellow against the glistening fresh snow.

“We painted it last summer,” Luke replied.

“Oh? Who is we?” I ...