Mia and the Puddle Drum

Mia had one pair of boots that sang. Every time she stepped in a puddle, they went squeak-a-lee, squeak-a-lee, and nobody else's boots in the whole village did that. Nobody thought it was strange. They just said, "There goes Mia."

On a rainy afternoon, Mia sat at the window with her chin on her hands. She wanted to splash. But Mama was on the porch, shaking out a wet rug, and Mama had said, "Boots stay by the door until the rain stops."

Mia waited. The rain did not stop.

"Please?" she asked.

"Soon," said Mama. "Not yet."

So Mia tried something. She tapped the window with one finger. Tip, tip. The rain tapped back. That was nice, but it was not splashing.

Then she tried the cooking pot. She put it on the floor and tapped it with a wooden spoon. Bong. Too loud. Mama's voice came in from the porch. "Mia, not the pot!"

Mia put the pot down. She looked at her boots by the door. Then she looked at the old tin bucket under the leaky corner of the roof.

Plink. A drop fell in. Plink. Another.

Mia sat very still and listened. Then she thought of something.

She dragged her boots across the floor and set them upside down under the drips. The first drop landed on a boot. Squeak! The next landed on the other. Squeak-a-lee!

Mia giggled. The boots were singing all by themselves.

She moved the bucket close and set the boots on either side. Now it went plink, squeak, plink, squeak-a-lee. It was a puddle song, and she was not even outside.

Mama came in and stopped at the door. She listened with her head tilted.

"Well," she said. "That is the best drum I have ever heard."

"It's a puddle drum," said Mia.

Mama sat down beside her. Together they listened to the rain on the roof, and the boots singing back, squeak-a-lee, squeak-a-lee, softer and softer, until the drips came slow and the sun made a bright patch on the floor.