Dottle Waits for the Wink — Under the bramble arch, Dottle held perfectly still, though a beetle had been tap-tapping on his stem for eleven minutes. Read the full story →
Under the bramble arch, Dottle held perfectly still, though a beetle had been tap-tapping on his stem for eleven minutes. He wanted to hear the night’s first joke, the one the crickets always told before moonrise, but jokes, everyone knew, ran away from fidgeting. Ferns smelled peppery in the damp air. Leaves clicked overhead like tiny spoons. Dottle counted his spots backward and did not even wiggle when a slug left a silver curlicue on his foot.
At last, a lantern bobbed through the grass. Out stepped Orbin, a gnome with a leaf stuck in his hat and a mustache that curled like two question marks. He raised one hand and whispered, “Pardon me, large sir. Are you the stage?” Dottle was so surprised he nearly shook off three dew drops. From behind Orbin came moths, pill bugs, and two shy snails, all carrying crumb-sized programs made of bark.
Then Dottle understood: the crickets had not forgotten the joke. They had been waiting for the audience to arrive. Orbin opened his lantern, the crickets bowed beneath Dottle’s cap, and the first joke made every fern frond tremble with quiet giggles. Next time you spot that raised little hand near the lantern, see if you can guess the punch line Dottle waited so patiently to hear.
