The Walnut Boat

Poppy and Sprig were two tiny mice who lived in a thimble house tucked under the hedge. Poppy wore a loop of red thread like a scarf. Sprig carried a pencil stub he called his thinking stick.

One bright morning after a soft rain, the garden smelled like mint and mud. Drops hung on the grass like little windows. Poppy and Sprig had a job to do. They had promised to bring a warm, crumbly piece of corncake to Granny Whisker, who lived on the other side of the path.

But the path was gone. In its place spread a wide, shiny puddle, as big as a pond to tiny mice. A maple leaf floated by like a boat. On the far side, the flowerpot where Granny Whisker lived looked far, far away.

"Oh," said Sprig, peering at the water. "That is a very much puddle."

Poppy tapped her whiskers. "Then we will be very much brave. We will sail."

"Sail?" Sprig squeaked.

Poppy held up a walnut shell half she kept for special things. "Our boat," she said. "We will make a mast, a sail, and a little room for our corncake."

They hurried to gather bits. Sprig planted a straight twig in a lump of beeswax to make a mast. Poppy found a clean leaf for a sail and a smooth button for an anchor. They tied everything with silky spider thread from Mrs. Web, who smiled and said, "Take two strands, my dears, and keep them tidy."

Together they set the warm crumb in the walnut shell and tucked it under a clover leaf blanket. Poppy tied her red thread scarf to the top of the mast like a brave little flag.

At the puddle’s edge, they pushed the walnut boat into the water. It bobbed and rocked and then floated steadily.

"All aboard," said Poppy, climbing in.

"All balanced," said Sprig, stepping carefully after her with his pencil stick to use as an oar.

The breeze filled their leaf sail with a happy puff. The boat slid forward, making tiny rings in the water.

A robin landed near the puddle and took a drink. Ripples rolled toward the boat. "Hold on," Poppy said.

"Steady, steady," Sprig murmured, dipping his pencil like a paddle. The boat rose and dipped over the ripples like a bean on a spoon. The corncake crumb stayed safe under its clover.

"Watch for the wobble," croaked a plump green frog from a rock. His golden eyes blinked kindly.

"Thank you, Mr. Frog," Poppy called. She moved to the middle and spread her paws. "I will be the balance."

A tall stick lay across the puddle like a bridge. The wind pushed them straight toward it. "Duck," Sprig squeaked. They crouched, and the little flag brushed the stick as they slipped under. A drop splashed Sprig’s nose, and he giggled.

Then the boat slowed. Tangly grass, long and stringy, curled around the shell. "We are stuck," Sprig said.

"Not for long," Poppy said. "Wiggle with me." Together they rocked the boat side to side. Sprig pushed with the pencil. The walnut shell wriggled free with a gentle pop.

A dragonfly zipped by, shining blue. "Nice boat!" she buzzed. "Name is Whirr. Want a tow?"

"We can do it," Poppy said, smiling. "But fly with us, please."

Whirr darted ahead and showed the smoothest path, where the water was flat as a mirror.

Just then a new breeze came. The sail billowed big, the boat tilted, and the button anchor clinked. The clover blanket slipped and the crumb began to slide.

Poppy pounced and pressed the crumb back. "I’ve got you," she said. Sprig dug the pencil into the water. "Turn, turn," he puffed. The boat swung toward a sunny patch by the edge.

With a tiny thump, they bumped the muddy shore. Poppy hopped out and pulled the boat up by its spider-thread rope. Sprig lifted the crumb with both paws.

"We sailed the very much puddle," Sprig said, eyes wide.

"We did," Poppy grinned.

Granny Whisker peeked out from her flowerpot door. She wore a blue apron with flour on it. "My brave ones," she said. "Come in, come in."

They carried the warm crumb to her table. Granny poured thistle tea and set out three blueberries like shiny buttons. "Tell me every splash and wobble," she said.

Poppy told about the ripples and the bridge-stick. Sprig told about being stuck and getting free. Whirr tapped at the window and buzzed hello.

"Big puddles do not stop small sailors," Granny said, smiling. "But they make the tea taste extra good."

After tea, the sun warmed the garden and the puddle grew smaller. Poppy and Sprig set the walnut boat on a flat stone to dry. They tied the smooth button back on the mast and patted the shell as if it were a pet.

"Let’s keep the boat on our shelf," Sprig said, hugging the blueberry Granny had packed for them to take home. "For the next big little trip."

Poppy nodded. "Because we are tiny mice," she said, "and the world is full of wonderful water to cross."

They walked home along the hedge, with Whirr zipping loops overhead and the walnut boat tucked in Poppy’s paws. The garden sparkled. The path was a path again. And Poppy’s red flag fluttered in the warm, brave air.