Egg in the Hedge Maze

Poppy found an egg in the hedge maze, and it was warm.

It was small and speckled, and it sat on a leaf as if somebody had left it there on purpose. Poppy picked it up in both hands.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "I'll take you home."

She knew where home was. The hen lived in the barn at the far side of the maze, and the egg had to be back in the nest by tea time. Poppy only had to find the way.

She went left. Hedge, hedge, hedge, and then a wall of leaves. She went right. Hedge, hedge, hedge, and another wall of leaves.

"Not crying," said Poppy. "Just carrying."

She tried the middle path. It went round and round and ended where she had started, beside the little stone fountain. Her chin went wobbly. Her nose went hot.

"Not crying," she said again, much smaller. "Just carrying."

An old gardener was clipping the hedge nearby. Snip, snip. He did not say anything. He was busy with his hedge, and he had a sandwich waiting.

But a big, wet tear rolled down Poppy's nose. Then another. Then out came a long, wobbly noise, like a kettle starting up. "Hooooo-hic! Hooooo-hic!"

Whoosh! The fountain began to spray bubbles. It always did when somebody made a noise near it.

Poppy sniffed. Bubbles floated up, shining, and wobbled over the hedge. They all drifted the same way, like a small parade.

"Oh," said Poppy. She wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. "They're going somewhere."

She followed the bubbles. Left, then left, then right, and the hedge opened. There was the barn, with the hen on the step, clucking and clucking.

Poppy set the egg into the nest. The hen shuffled down over it with a soft, settling fluff.

Poppy's cheeks were still wet. The last bubble landed on her hand and went pop.