Silas and the Apron Pocket — Under his apron pocket, Silas kept a cracked white button that clicked like a tiny secret whenever he walked. Read the full story →
Under his apron pocket, Silas kept a cracked white button that clicked like a tiny secret whenever he walked. He meant to trade it at the tool shed for a bit of twine, just enough to fix the loose handle on his harvest basket before supper.
Past the sunflower row he went, where bees buzzed like sleepy fiddles and dust tickled his boots. At the corn patch, a rabbit kit sat beside a bent stalk, nose twitching at the smell of carrots. Silas held his basket tighter. The button clicked. Then he tucked one carrot under the leaves where no one, not even the crow on the fence, was looking. “Shh,” he whispered.
By the time he reached the barn, the basket handle still wobbled, and the button was still his. But the basket felt lighter in a way that made his chest feel roomier: one tomato for the field mouse, one corn cob for the old hen, one pumpkin left by the fence for whoever needed orange comfort. Next time you spot Silas’s pocket, keep the secret with him—the cracked white button is still clicking.
