Harper’s Squeaky Story

Storybook Forest’s hollow tree was wide as a little house. Each evening, the animals gathered inside to share tales. There were stump seats, a shelf of acorn cups, and a soft patch of moss for the youngest listeners.

Harper, a young fox with a white-tipped tail, had spent all week making a story. She’d drawn the pictures herself: a serious rabbit wearing a turnip for a hat, a sleepy bear trying to dance, and a goose who mistook her own tail for a feather duster.

“I’m going to tell it tonight,” Harper said to Willa, the talkative owl perched over the doorway.

“Wonderful!” said Willa. “A story needs a beginning, a middle, and an ending. And perhaps a snack. Unless it’s about snacks.”

“It’s about a turnip hat,” Harper said. “That’s close.”

The animals began to arrive. Benny Badger brought berries. Fern the rabbit settled by the moss. Two field mice shared a tiny cushion. Harper held her pages in both paws.

“Can you hear me?” she squeaked.

“I can hear you just fine,” Willa said.

Harper tried again. “Can everyone hear me?” Her voice sounded like a mouse asking a question from inside a teacup.

Benny tilted his head. “I heard something.”

“Perhaps a cricket,” Fern guessed.

“I’m not a cricket,” Harper said, but only Willa heard her.

Willa fluffed her feathers. “Harper has a story to tell! It’s about a turnip, a rabbit, and one very confused goose.”

Everyone turned toward Harper. Her ears warmed. She wanted to begin, but the words bunched up behind her teeth. Then she looked at her picture of the rabbit in its turnip hat and giggled.

A current of air moved through the tree’s doorway and lifted the pages from Harper’s paws. One slid beneath the stump seats; another fluttered into the ferns. Soon her story was scattered across the forest floor.

“The pages are flying!” cried Fern.

Benny chased one, but it skittered beneath a broad leaf. The field mice hurried after another around the stump seats. Willa swooped from her branch, calling directions so quickly that everyone looked the wrong way.

“Page near the roots!” she hooted. “No, the other roots! There are so many roots!”

Harper watched the pictures tumble apart. She remembered every page and exactly what happened in her story. But how could she help when her voice was so tiny?

Then she spotted a page caught against a fern. It showed the rabbit beside a round, brown shape. Harper remembered the funny detail she’d drawn: a little leaf poked from the turnip like a feather.

“Look for the page with a leaf sticking out of the turnip!” she squeaked.

No one heard her over Willa’s directions.

Harper climbed onto a low stump and tried again. Her voice was still a squeak, but it carried across the clearing.

“I heard Harper!” Fern called.

“Over by the fern!” Harper said. “That picture comes before the rabbit bows.”

Fern found the page and held it up. “This one?”

“Yes! The turnip hat has a feather leaf!” Harper said.

Now the animals listened closely. Harper called out each picture: the bear with one dancing shoe on the wrong paw; the goose polishing a pond with her tail; and the rabbit bowing so low that his turnip hat rolled away. Everyone leaned in to catch her clues.

“Next comes the goose,” Harper called. “She thinks her tail is a feather duster!”

Benny found that page beside the tree. The mice discovered the bear beneath a curled leaf. Willa finally found the last page stuck to her own foot.

“Ah,” she said, lifting it. “I’ve been standing on the ending.”

They gathered the pages into a neat stack. Harper put them in order, checking each picture. Her paws still felt wiggly, and her voice was still small. But she knew the story from the first page to the last.

“I can tell it,” she said.

“We’re listening,” said Fern.

The animals made a little circle around Harper. Willa tucked in her wings. Harper opened the first page and began.

“Once there was a rabbit named Rollo,” Harper squeaked, “who found a turnip so round he thought it would make a fine hat.”

The animals leaned closer. Her small voice reached the circle, and she turned the page.

“Rollo wore his turnip hat to the pond. A goose named Gladys saw him and said, ‘What a handsome hat! It looks good enough to eat.’”

Benny chuckled. The mice covered their mouths with their paws.

“Rollo said, ‘Please don’t eat my hat. I have an important dance tonight.’ Then he put on his dancing shoes. One went on his foot, and one went on his ear.”

Fern snorted. “A dancing shoe on his ear?”

“That’s what the picture says,” Harper replied.

She told how Rollo tried to bow, but his turnip hat rolled across the pond. Gladys chased it, sweeping the water with her tail. The bear watched from shore and tried to help by dancing after her. One shoe slipped off, and he spun slowly until he landed with a plop.

Willa laughed so hard she grabbed the branch above her. “I’ve never seen such a tidy pond-cleaning dance!”

Harper turned to the last picture. The rabbit, goose, and bear stood together. The turnip hat sat on the bear’s head, with a little leaf poking above his ears.

“And then,” Harper squeaked, “the bear said, ‘This hat is deliciously comfortable.’ But nobody knew if he meant the hat felt nice—or if he was thinking about lunch.”

Warm laughter filled the hollow tree. Harper laughed too. Her story sounded just as funny out loud as it had in her head.

“Your voice is easy to hear when we come close,” Fern said.

“And your pictures helped us find every page,” Benny added.

Willa nodded. “A fine story, Harper. A fine turnip, too. Though I wouldn’t wear one on my head. I have enough feathers to manage.”

The animals settled on the stump seats and moss. Harper stacked her pages and curled up near Fern. Willa began a quiet tale about a sleepy moon moth, while the friends chuckled once more at the bear’s turnip hat. Inside the hollow tree, the evening grew still, and Harper’s little voice rested among her friends.