Henry and the Porch Sneeze

On a cabin porch, a swing creaked in the breeze. Henry sat on it with his grandpa's best hat in his lap.

The hat was green, with a feather in the band. Grandpa had gone inside for lemonade. "Don't let it blow away," he had said.

Henry wanted to keep it safe. He held it tight.

Then his nose began to tickle. Ah. Ah. Henry did not want to sneeze. If he sneezed, he would drop the hat.

"Not now," he whispered. "Not now, nose."

He pinched his nose. The tickle got bigger. Ah. Ah. Ah.

"Ahhh-CHOOOO!"

It was the loudest sneeze on the whole hill. The hat jumped out of his hands and flew off the porch. It landed in the grass, past the wide gap between the steps and the old stone wall.

Henry looked at the gap. It was too wide to cross in one step. He tried a big step. He stopped. He tried a little hop. He stopped again.

A small brown bird landed on the hat. She pulled at the feather.

"That's not yours!" said Henry.

"It's for my nest," said the bird. "Every bird here carries things from nest to nest. Nobody ever uses the same way twice." Then she flew off without it, because the feather was stuck.

Henry watched her go. He looked at the gap again. Then he looked at the swing.

The swing went back and forth, back and forth, creak, creak. Henry climbed on. He pushed with his sneakers. Higher. Higher. At the top, he jumped.

He landed in the grass with a thump. He picked up the hat.

Henry carried it back and sat on the swing just as Grandpa came out.

"Here's your lemonade," said Grandpa. "And my hat. Good. Was there a thunderstorm?"

"No," said Henry. "Just me."

The swing creaked, and the feather wiggled.