The Button That Paid Back — Every evening, Tobin raced through Moonmarket with his tin button clicking in his pocket, buying lamp oil before the bell went bong-bong. The button was not money. Read the full story →
Every evening, Tobin raced through Moonmarket with his tin button clicking in his pocket, buying lamp oil before the bell went bong-bong. The button was not money. It was the last button from his father’s coat, smooth as a skipped stone and excellent for flipping when a decision felt wobbly. Until one windy night, the star lantern above the glassmaker’s stall sputtered, coughed smoke, and went dark.
Because of that, shoppers bumped noses in the blue-black aisles, and Mrs. Pibb’s pickle cart rolled politely into a fountain. Because of that, the glassmaker, whose spectacles were fogged with panic and pickle steam, cried, “I need one round bit of tin for the lantern’s hinge!” Tobin felt the button warm in his fist. Then he slipped it onto the workbench under a rag and sneezed loudly enough to distract everyone.
At last, the lantern swung open, flashed gold, and poured starlight over the market roofs. Nobody saw Tobin pat his empty pocket. But if you study the shining heart of stars, can you spot the tiny round place where a plain tin button became more than money?
