YESTERDAY, I stood at a window with a book, a candle and a V-strip. Like the stars in Bell, Book and Candle, the 1958 film, I was trying to work some magic. In the movie, Kim Novak casts a spell on Jimmy Stewart. I was trying to pull off a difficult feat - stopping a draft from a leaky window.

Windows get a lot of attention this time of year as holiday wreaths, lights and other decorations are placed in them. But, as I have been told many times, before you decorate a window, you first have to wash it.

That was what I was doing when I felt a cold wind blowing on my hand. It was not a faint breeze. It was strong and steady. When I placed a lighted candle near the edge of the window, the flame did not merely dance, it boogied.

Ordinarily, I do not try to fix leaky windows; instead, I accept them for what they are. This acceptance is, I think, one of the keys to living in an old house. Another is having plenty of warm blankets on hand to wrap around you on windy winter evenings.

This particular window was single-paned, wood-framed and a little wobbly. For most of the year, the window had gone about its business without drawing much notice. It let in sunlight. It kept out rain. When closed, it prevented most family arguments from drifting out into the street. Moreover, since this window sat on the second floor of the house, directly above the front door, it provided a quick, Baltimore-style way of seeing who was downstairs ringing the doorbell. You stuck your head out the second-story window and hollered: "Who's ringing my bell?" The window had a history of leaking. In prior winters, I dealt with this situation in one of two ways. Most years, I adopted the Russian solution - the one they used to defeat Napoleon - of retreating from the action and waiting for winter to pass.

The other tactic, which I tried only once a few years ago, was to wrap up the window like a Christmas package, sealing it with tape and strips of foam insulation. The seal-it-up approach sufficed as long as the window remained closed.

However, as soon as friends came calling, especially friends of our sons, the seal would be broken. The doorbell would ring, and our kids would behave like characters in "Twas the Night Before Christmas." Away to the window they flew like a flash, tore off the insulation and threw open the sash. This style of greeting soon wiped out the weather-stripping and my hours of painstaking labor.

So most winters, I pulled the window blinds tight, pulled a blanket around my body and waited for spring.

But yesterday, I got ambitious and installed a V-strip. A V-strip is an ingenious creation, dreamed up, no doubt, by the finest minds in weather-stripping technology. This V-strip was made of rubber; others are made of metal. Both types can be attached to the top and bottom of a window sash, allowing the window to open and close and still block drafts.

The strip takes its name from its "V" shape, which allows the sashes to fit snugly in place. To work well, V-strips must be properly installed. That means the open end of the "V" should face out, or into the wind.

Not having one of the finer minds in weather-stripping technology, I had to chant "V faces out" yesterday as I pressed the strip onto the bottom of the lower sash. It turned out that the upper sash already had a V-strip on it. It was metal, and ancient - probably installed back in the days when a "V" represented the Roman numeral five. But it seemed to be working, so I left the ancient "V" alone.

Next, I closed the window and lighted the candle again. There I stood at the front window, holding a glowing candle and looking out on holiday decorations in my neighbor's windows. It was a nice December moment.

It got even nicer when I ran the candle along the edge of the newly insulated window sash and saw that this time the flame did not dance. One leak had been plugged; one draft defeated. I blew out the candle and sniffed the aroma of its beeswax. It would be a window to remember.