Pip and the Pea-Pod Ship

Pip had the smallest pirate ship in the whole pond. It was no bigger than a boot, and Pip was no bigger than a button.

Every morning Pip sailed past the lily pads. Each one was wide enough to stand on. And every morning Pip looked at the same shiny thing.

It was a golden bell, hanging from a reed on the far side of the pond. A real pirate rings a bell when the sun comes up. Pip wanted to ring it more than anything.

"Today I ring the bell," said Pip.

Pip sailed across. The bell hung high above the water. It was far too high to reach.

Pip stood on tiptoe. Nothing. Pip jumped. The little ship rocked, and the bell stayed where it was.

"Ahoy, bell!" Pip called. "Come down!"

The bell said nothing at all.

A frog sat on a lily pad nearby. She was not there to help. She was there to catch breakfast, and she was watching a fly.

Pip looked down at the water. Pip's tiny footprints, left on the deck, glowed a faint green. They would glow for exactly one hour. Everybody at the pond knew that, so nobody looked twice.

Pip had a new idea. The reed bent when the wind blew. Wind pushed it down a little, then up again.

"I can't reach the bell," said Pip. "But the reed can bring it to me."

Pip pulled out a small sail and held it wide. The wind puffed into it. The little ship tugged on its rope, and the rope pulled the reed.

Down came the reed. Down came the bell.

Pip reached up and tapped it.

Ding!

The frog jumped. The fly flew off. She gave Pip a very cross look.

"Sorry!" said Pip, and the bell swung back up, still ringing.

Pip sat down on the deck. The glowing footprints shone green in the early light. The pond was quiet, and the last ding drifted over the water, softer and softer, until it was gone.