Stone Tower by the Stream

Lucas found a duck sitting on top of his stone tower, and the tower was lying flat.

He had wanted to build it as tall as his shoulder. He wanted it done before the rain came. Dark clouds were already rolling over the hill, and the light was getting thin.

"Hey!" said Lucas.

The duck did not hurry. She waddled off the stones, down the bank and into the stream, with her ducklings paddling behind. She was only going home for the night.

Lucas did not care. His face felt hot, like a kettle. His hands were fists.

"I'm angry!" he shouted. "I'm so angry!"

He stomped. The sand did not mind. He shouted again, but the stream just kept running. So he waded in barefoot and kicked the water. Splash! It soaked his shorts, and he was still angry.

Then he saw the rope swing. In this place, everybody knew the swing went higher for whoever counted out loud.

Lucas climbed on. He pushed off, and he counted in a cross, growly voice.

"One! Two! Three!"

The swing went up. His growl got smaller.

"Four! Five! Six!"

Higher and higher. His fists let go of themselves and held the rope instead. At the very top, he could see the whole bank, and he noticed something he had missed. The tower had fallen because he had built it on round stones. Flat ones lay in a pile by the willow.

"Seven," said Lucas, quietly.

He jumped down and ran. He picked flat stones and set them one on one, and the tower grew. Waist high. Chest high. A fat raindrop landed on his arm. Plink. He set the last stone on top, right at his shoulder.

Then the rain came, tapping on the stones, and out on the stream a small duck quacked.