Mira was digging a tiny river in the garden with her red bucket when a leaf flipped up and a pair of tiny boots stepped out.

"Excuse me," said a small voice. "Do you know the way to the Mending Market?"

Mira looked closer. A tiny wizard stood on the leaf. He wore a blue coat with neat square patches and a pointy hat with one floppy corner. He carried a little suitcase and a wand that had a crack and a wobble.

"I’m Mira," she said. "I don't know that place, but I can help you look."

The wizard bowed so low his hat tip touched the leaf. "I’m Pip, a pocket wizard. My wand is wobbly, and my door home keeps getting smaller. If we mend the wand, the door will behave."

Mira nodded. "Where is the market?"

Pip opened his suitcase. Inside lay a fat book, a cookie, and a bell that whispered, "Hello." Pip flipped pages. "It says the Mending Market sits behind a painted door. The door likes good manners and brave hearts."

Mira smiled. "We have those. And I know a painted door."

Behind the tool shed, near the marigolds, someone long ago had drawn a door on the fence: yellow panels, a round knob, and a wide welcome mat. Mira had always liked it.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Ready," said Pip. He held out his little hand. Mira held it gently.

Together they said the polite spell from the book. "Door, if you please, open for friends."

The painted knob grew warm. The door shook, then swung open. Wind that smelled like warm bread and soap bubbles rolled over them.

On the other side was a street like a quilt. The ground was soft squares of green, gold, and cherry red. Trees wore buttons instead of apples. A teacup bigger than a bathtub sat on a hill, steaming. Creatures wandered past: a fox with a coat sewn from buttons, a bird with ribbons for tail feathers, and a broom with a smile.

The broom bowed. "Welcome! I’m Sweep. You must be here for mending. The stall is that way, but the bell string is lost, so no one can call the mender."

The bell in Pip’s suitcase whispered, "We need a string."

Mira set her bucket down. "Let's find one."

They followed a trail of glittery threads to the teacup hill. There, a little green dragon sat, wrapped in a long red ribbon. The dragon’s wings drooped. It hiccupped tiny puffs that smelled like cinnamon.

"Oh," said Mira softly. "Are you stuck?"

"I am," the dragon said with a sniff. "I chased a kite with a ribbon tail. I caught the tail, but the tail caught me. My name is Frill."

Pip tipped his hat. "I am Pip. This is Mira. May we help you, Frill?"

Frill nodded and hiccupped another cinnamon puff.

Mira knelt. "We will go slow."

Pip held his wobbly wand. "Untwisty, unwind, please be kind," he said. The ribbon loosened a little.

"Deep breaths," Mira said to Frill. "In and out."

Frill breathed in and out. Pip sang the spell again, soft as a hum. Mira slid the ribbon free from a wing, then a leg, then around the tail. Frill wriggled and giggled. The knot was last. It sat tight as a pebble.

"I could chew it," Frill offered.

"Let's try together," said Mira.

Mira held the knot. Pip tapped it. "Little knot, do not be hot. Open up, please."

The knot sighed and fell away.

Frill flapped both wings. "Thank you! This ribbon is yours now. It is strong and nice."

Pip’s eyes shone. "It might mend my wand."

Back on the quilt street, the broom, Sweep, swished with happiness when he saw the ribbon. "Perfect for the bell! But the mender’s stall first."

The Mending Stall was a cart with drawers and a striped awning. A gray cat sat on the counter and purred. The stallkeeper was a pair of clever hands that worked by themselves, snipping and stitching.

"Patch, patch, pat," hummed the hands. "What needs help?"

Pip set his wand down. "A wobble. A crack."

The hands tied the red ribbon around the wand and sewed on a round yellow button from the button fox, who winked. They polished the wood with teacup steam. The wand looked new, but also friendly, like a bandaged knee that healed with a special sticker.

"It is a patchwork wand now," Pip said. He touched it. It hummed. It did not wobble.

They tied a piece of the ribbon to the bell too. "Thank you," the bell whispered, and rang a clear note that made the quilt street smile.

"Time to go home?" Mira asked.

Pip peeked at his book. "The door needs two friends to open it right."

Back at the painted door, Pip held the patchwork wand. Mira held his hand.

"Wand awake, door make," they said together. "With a friend, open, please."

The door glowed like morning on a puddle. It opened.

Frill bumped them with a soft snout. "Come back to play. I will bring cinnamon puffs, the safe kind."

The broom waved. The button fox tipped his coat. The ribbon bird drew a heart in the air.

Mira and Pip stepped through to the garden. Sun warmed the marigolds. The red bucket waited by the tiny river.

Pip pressed something into Mira’s hand. It was a little yellow button that looked like a door. "Tap this when you want me to visit."

Mira put it in her pocket. "Thank you, friend."

A ribbon tip peeked from the wand. It fluttered, even though there was no wind. Pip smiled. "Your careful hands helped. Your brave heart did too."

Mira smiled back. "Your wand is clever. But I like it best because it is patched."

Pip nodded. "Me, too."

They waved to each other. The painted door went still, but Mira could feel a warm little hum, like a promise.

She scooped her bucket, made her river curve, and left a space where a tiny boat might sail in, just in case.