The Sled Bell Dare — Every day after hauling logs, Gus parked beside the winter tree lot and tinkered with scraps: two ski runners, one crate plank, and a biscuit tin full of bells that smelled faintly of butter. Read the full story →
Every day after hauling logs, Gus parked beside the winter tree lot and tinkered with scraps: two ski runners, one crate plank, and a biscuit tin full of bells that smelled faintly of butter. He had set himself a challenge—build a sled so jingly that the sleepy chickadees would tap their toes. Until one day, his newest bell rope snapped with a SPROING and flung silver bells into the snow.
Because of that, Gus borrowed ribbon from the trees’ bows and tied the bells on by hand, knot after wobbly knot. Because of that, the sled looked so fancy that the smallest fir climbed aboard, daring him to test it down the lumpy lane. “No bump can boss my sled,” Gus puffed, and off they went—ching-ching, skid-whoop, ching!
At the last hill, the sled swerved toward a drift shaped like a sleeping loaf. Gus stomped his brake, twisted the rope, and the little fir spun safely into place with every handmade bell still ringing. The chickadees woke, the trees grinned under snow, and Gus felt warm from smokestack to tires. If you spot those bells next time, you’ll know which ones smelled faintly of butter.
