Inga lived in a village so very tiny that no one had ever thought of giving it a name. Not because it was a village with only a few houses. Actually, it had thousands of houses. But they were all very, very small. Don't misunderstand me. The houses might have been small but they were comfortable. Each one had a lounge with a fireplace and a splendid grandfather clock; a kitchen with a bread oven; and several bedrooms. The simple fact is- the houses were tiny because the people who lived in them were tiny. Inga, for example, was no bigger than my hand. Her mother and her sisters were not much taller. Her grandmother, her aunts and cousins, her neighbours and all the other women in the village were equally small. It was because of this that no one had ever thought of giving the village a name.