The Lantern That Knew North — Under the midnight firs, Crispin ran with his uncle’s brass lantern bumping against his mitten. Read the full story →
Under the midnight firs, Crispin ran with his uncle’s brass lantern bumping against his mitten. He wanted to reach the hollow-log hall before the first pinecone song, because this year he carried the opening spark. Snow hissed under his boots. Stars flashed between black branches, and his tall hat snagged twigs as he ducked, hopped, and slid past sleeping burrows.
The lantern was no bigger than a teapot, but Uncle Tovin had polished it every Christmas Eve. “It remembers north,” he had said, tapping the warm glass. Crispin followed its glow through peppermint-cold air, past a chimney puffing smoke and a mushroom capped with snow. Then the flame leaned sideways, not north at all, pointing straight at the mushroom’s pale stem.
A tiny door opened in the cap. Out marched twelve spotted mushroom folk, each wearing a crumb-sized scarf. “There’s our festival moon!” squeaked the first. All along, Uncle Tovin’s lantern had guided not only gnomes, but the under-snow neighbors too. Crispin laughed, lifted it high, and everyone hurried together toward the singing hall, exactly where they belonged under the midnight firs. Can you spot the lantern that knows more than north?
