Quill’s Pumpkin Bell — Under the crooked ash tree, Quill tucked a tiny brass bell into his overall pocket and bounded along the root path. Read the full story →
Under the crooked ash tree, Quill tucked a tiny brass bell into his overall pocket and bounded along the root path. It looked like any other bell, dull and dented, but it had rung at every harvest party since his first paw step. Tonight, Quill wanted to make its sound big enough for the whole hollow to hear. Jingle-jink! Dry leaves skittered like paper boats around his paws.
He leaped over roots, ducked under bare branches, and tapped the bell against each pumpkin waiting by the path. The moon smiled thin and bright above him, and two puffy clouds drifted close as if they wanted front-row seats. “Ready?” Quill called, his tail sweeping the grass. The bell answered with one brave ting.
Then the carved pumpkin beside him answered, too—not with words, but with a warm orange glow that pulsed in time. Another pumpkin blinked from a hill. Then another. The whole hollow began chiming in light, bright-bright, soft-soft, until Quill’s joy had too many sparks to keep in one pocket. Next time you spot his raised paw, can you imagine the root path ringing back, jingle-jink under the crooked ash tree?
