Wynn’s Bell Map — Down the cobblestone lane zipped a red bicycle, ching-ching, with Wynn standing on the pedals and sniffing chimney smoke that smelled like toast. Read the full story →
Down the cobblestone lane zipped a red bicycle, ching-ching, with Wynn standing on the pedals and sniffing chimney smoke that smelled like toast. She wanted to test every shortcut before the Christmas parade, so she tucked her aunt’s tiny brass bell beside the back seat and packed the front basket with practice parcels. Past tall windows, puffing roofs, and pine trees, the bell rang at each turn as if it were laughing, “This way!”
At the lamppost, the bell gave three bright dings without anyone touching it. Wynn stopped so fast that snow squeaked under the tires. A chickadee hopped from the holly on the bell and tapped the brass with its beak. “Again!” Wynn whispered. The bird answered ding-ding-ding, and suddenly the shortcut was not a shortcut at all—it was a song path for parade birds. Wynn rode slowly then, gifts bobbing, bow fluttering, while the chickadee kept time; next time you spot the little bell, can you hear the same ching-ching down the cobblestone lane?
