The Lantern on the Roof

"Shh, nobody make a sound," whispered Poppy, and she tiptoed along the rooftop garden with a match-free smile.

On Poppy's roof, the lanterns lit up when somebody whispered to them. Every evening, Poppy whispered to one, and it glowed. Tonight there were twelve lanterns on the string. Poppy had lit eleven. Only the big round one at the end was still dark, and she wanted to light it more than anything.

She leaned close. Her nose tickled. Her eyes went squinty.

"Not yet, sneeze," Poppy whispered.

A grey pigeon sat on the fence. She had come up to sleep, not to help. She tucked her head under her wing.

Poppy pinched her nose. The tickle got bigger. Her cheeks puffed out like two little buns.

"Not yet, sneeze," she said, in a squeaky voice.

She tried rubbing her nose with her sleeve. She tried looking at the moon. She tried counting tomatoes. The tickle sat in her nose like a feather, and it would not leave.

Then Poppy noticed something. The big round lantern had no lid. It was open at the bottom, like a bell. It was waiting for a sound.

"Oh," said Poppy. "Maybe a whisper is too small for you."

She stood on her toes. She tipped back her head. She aimed her nose right up into the lantern.

"Ah... ah... AH-CHOOOO!"

The sneeze was the loudest sound on the whole roof. The big lantern shone so bright and so gold that the whole garden turned to butter. The string swung. All twelve lanterns bobbed and clinked like a row of bells.

The pigeon popped out her head. "Hrrroo?" she said, very cross. Then she tucked it back in again.

Poppy giggled into her hands, very quietly.

The lanterns swayed slower, and slower. The gold light settled on the tomatoes, and the pigeon, and the tip of Poppy's nose. Somewhere under the wing, the pigeon gave one small, sleepy coo.