The Kettle Whistle Star

Noah was the only boy on Pebble Lane who could whistle like a kettle. It went pheeeee, high and thin, and the neighbour's cat always came running.

One evening something went plink in the yard. Noah looked out of the window. A small star lay in the grass, glowing like a lamp under a blanket.

"Gran, a star fell down!" he said.

"Then it wants to go home," said Gran. "You may touch it, but only with your scarf."

Noah ran out and wrapped the star in his red scarf. It was warm and a little dim. It gave a tiny sleepy hum.

"I'll put you back," said Noah.

First he threw the star up. Up it went, and down it came, plop, into the flowerpot. Second he got the ladder. It was too short. He stood on the top step and held the star as high as his arms could reach. The sky was still very far away.

Noah sat down in the grass. He felt like a kettle with the lid on. A little whistle slipped out of him. Pheeeee.

The star glowed brighter. Noah blinked. He whistled again, and the star rose out of the scarf, just a finger's width.

"Oh!" said Noah. "You like it!"

He climbed the ladder and whistled. The star floated up a little. He whistled again, and again. Once his whistle came out all wrong and went pheep-hic! The star wobbled and giggled in a tiny, tinkly way. Noah giggled too.

Up the star went, past the roof and past the chimney. Then it hung above the ladder, bright as a dropped coin.

"Pheeeee," whistled Noah, as softly as he could.

The star floated up into the dark and found a gap between its sisters, and it stayed there. Noah stood on the ladder with his red scarf in his hand. High above him, one small light blinked on and off, on and off, in time with his whistle.