The Night Candle

"Not yet, not yet," says a small voice in the long grass, and Ivy tiptoes closer to see who is talking.

It is her first night in the new house by the meadow. Ivy wants a friend more than anything. She has looked all day, but she has only found beetles, and beetles do not say much.

In the grass stands a hedgehog in a knitted scarf. He holds a teacup, and in the teacup burns a candle no taller than Ivy's finger.

"Hello," says Ivy. "I'm Ivy. Who are you talking to?"

"The candle," says the hedgehog. "I'm Moss. It has to reach Old Tilly's window, across the stream, before the fireflies start. Not yet, not yet, little flame."

The candle is already getting short.

"I'll carry it," says Ivy. She takes the cup and runs. The flame lies flat and sputters.

"Slowly!" cries Moss.

So Ivy walks slowly, with her hand around the flame. But now she cannot see the path, and her foot bumps a thistle. "Ow!"

Moss shakes his head. "Hurry, and it burns down. Stop, and we're late."

Ivy sits on a stone and sighs. She stares at the candle, because there is nothing else to do. And the flame stands up tall and steady. It looks like a tiny orange feather.

"Moss, look! It's burning slower!"

"Oh, it does that when somebody watches it," says Moss. "I never have time. I'm always watching my feet."

Ivy thinks. "I'll watch the candle. You watch the feet."

They set off. Ivy holds the cup and stares and stares. Moss holds her sleeve and calls, "Left stone. Right stone. Big stone."

Plip, plip, plip go the stepping stones.

At the last one, Ivy forgets to look down. Splosh! One trainer fills with stream. But the candle never wobbles.

They set it on Old Tilly's windowsill, and the first firefly blinks in the grass. Then another.

"Same time tomorrow?" asks Moss.

"Same time tomorrow," says Ivy, and her wet trainer squelches as they sit and watch the meadow light up.