Mia and the Puddle Boat

Mia was the only girl in Pebble Lane who kept a paper boat in her coat pocket, just in case. Today it finally rained, and the boat was ready.

"Rain, rain, rain," sang Mia. She pulled on her yellow boots. "Today my boat goes to sea."

The sea was the big puddle at the bottom of the garden. Mia knelt down and set her boat on the water. It bobbed. It turned. Then it began to sail.

But the puddle was not still. Plip, plop, went the raindrops, and the boat slid sideways. Mia reached out. The boat floated just past her fingers.

"Come back, boat," she said.

The boat did not come back. It went round the puddle once, twice, and then it slipped right into the gutter by the gate. Away it went along the little stream.

Mia ran after it. Splash, splash, splash! Every time she almost had it, a ripple carried it off again. Her fingers closed on nothing.

"Come back, boat!" she called.

She stopped. Her boots were full of puddle and her hair was dripping. Running was not working.

Then she saw something. Ahead, a pile of twigs and leaves lay across the stream, like a tiny bridge. Everything that floated down would have to stop there.

Mia did not run any more. She walked, slowly, all the way round to the bridge. She crouched down and waited with her hands open.

Plip, plop, went the rain.

The boat came drifting, drifting, and bumped softly against the twigs. It stopped. Mia lifted it out with both hands.

It was wet and floppy, and one corner had gone soft as porridge. But it was still a boat.

A fat brown frog peeped out from under a leaf. He looked at Mia. He looked at the boat. Then he hopped on the twigs, as if the bridge had always been his.

"Ribbit," said the frog.

"Sorry," said Mia. "I'll share."

She put the boat back on the water, close beside her boots, and kept one finger on its edge. The rain pattered on her hood. The little boat rocked, and the frog sat on the bridge, and the puddle went plip, plop, plip.