Lucas and the Drum Puddles

Lucas was the only boy on Wildflower Hill who had never once cried. He was very proud of that.

The hill was covered in flowers after the warm rain. Every puddle on it bounced like a drum when you jumped in. Boom-ba-boom! Nobody thought that was strange. It was just how puddles were.

Today Lucas had a job. He had to carry a jar of honey to Gran at the top of the hill, and he must not drop it. "Straight up the path," said Mum. "Careful, careful."

But the path was full of puddles, and Lucas wanted to jump in every one. Boom-ba-boom! He jumped in three. The fourth was so big that he went around it, and then around a bush, and then through a gap. Suddenly he was standing in front of an old garden shed.

The door was open. He peeked in. Then the wind went whoosh, and bang! The door shut behind him.

Lucas pushed. The door did not move. He pushed again. He banged and he called, "Hello? Hello?" Nobody came. The door only opened from the outside.

His throat felt tight, and his eyes felt hot. "I don't cry," he whispered. "I don't cry."

He tried to be brave. He tried to count flowers. But the tight feeling kept growing, until a big tear rolled down his nose and dropped into a tin bucket on the floor. Plink!

Lucas stared. Another tear fell. Plink! Then more came, and the bucket began to sing. Plink, plonk, plink-a-plonk, louder and louder, like a little drum.

Outside, Gran was coming down the hill for her trowel. She stopped. "Who is playing my bucket?" she said. She pulled the door open.

"Oh, Lucas," she said softly, and she sat down on the step beside him.

Lucas cried until the bucket was quiet. The honey jar sat safe in his lap, warm in the sun, and outside a puddle went boom, very gently, as the last raindrop fell.