Jory’s Workshop Dash — Every evening, Jory lined up wooden wheels beside the toy-room track and whispered, “One whole delivery, all by myself.” He had never carried anything bigger than a ribbon spool, but the square box for Santa smelled of pine glue and peppermint paper, and its bow was as wide as his grin. Read the full story →
Every evening, Jory lined up wooden wheels beside the toy-room track and whispered, “One whole delivery, all by myself.” He had never carried anything bigger than a ribbon spool, but the square box for Santa smelled of pine glue and peppermint paper, and its bow was as wide as his grin. Then the bell over Bench Seven clanged—ding-ding-DING—and the North Pole Express chugged onto the wrong loop.
Because of that, Jory had to step over the rails with the box hugged tight. Because of THAT, a rolling screwdriver bumped his boot, a teddy bear tipped, and the train puffed closer, clickety-clack, clickety-clack. His knees fizzed like soda, but he shouted, “Switch left!” and nudged the lever with one curled toe.
The train curved safely around the pile of presents, and Jory reached Santa’s table with the bow still proud and uncrushed. Next time you spot that big tagged box, check whether Jory’s boot is still ready beside the track—one whole delivery, all by himself.
