The Little Fox Who Saved a Puddle

Little Fox had a blue tray for sailing leaf boats. He scrubbed it after every voyage.

But best of all, he loved the puddle beside the willow.

It was wide enough for a running jump.

SPLISH!

“Again!” he cried.

Then came three hot, dry days.

The puddle grew smaller and smaller. Now Little Fox could fit only one paw inside it.

“Oh, no. You're disappearing!”

He fetched his bucket and a cup.

“Don't worry. I'll save you.”

Scoop, tip. Scoop, tip.

Little Fox lifted the last cupful from the mud.

There was just enough water to cover the bottom of his bucket.

He carried it into the shade.

“One puddle, safely saved!”

Blackbird landed beside the empty patch.

“Where's our puddle?” she asked.

“In here!” said Little Fox.

Blackbird perched on the bucket's rim.

“I was hoping to wash my—”

“See? I haven't lost a drop.”

She stretched one wing. It bumped the handle.

She folded it again.

Hedgehog came rustling through the leaves.

“I've walked all the way from the blackberry hedge. I could use a drink.”

He stood on tiptoe beside the bucket.

His nose didn't reach the rim.

“Perhaps we could—”

“I can fix that!” said Little Fox.

He dragged over a stump and put the bucket on top.

“There!”

Hedgehog looked up.

Little Fox looked down.

“Oh.”

Now Hedgehog could hardly reach the stump.

Blackbird hopped onto the handle. The bucket wobbled.

“Steady!” she squawked.

Little Fox set the bucket down and tilted it towards Hedgehog.

A thin stream escaped onto the dusty ground.

The spilled water sank into the dust.

Fox pulled the bucket upright. There was still a little left.

“Stop!” cried Blackbird.

This time, he stopped.

His ears drooped.

“What were you going to say?”

“I need room to splash my wings,” said Blackbird.

“And I need an edge I can reach,” said Hedgehog.

Little Fox sat beside them.

“I can't keep the water for ever,” he said. “But we could use what's left.”

He looked at the narrow bucket, then at Hedgehog's short legs.

“Wide and low,” he murmured.

He knew something wide and low.

His blue tray.

His clean, blue leaf-boat tray.

Little Fox hurried home. He lifted out his boats and carried the tray back to the willow.

“Would this work?”

Hedgehog rested his chin over the edge.

Blackbird opened both wings.

“Yes!” they said.

They found a level patch in the shade.

Little Fox poured slowly. Blackbird watched one side; Hedgehog watched the other.

Not a drop spilled.

“I'm sorry I didn't listen to what you needed,” Fox said.

Hedgehog took a long drink.

Then Blackbird stepped in.

Splish, splosh, FLAP!

Water freckled Little Fox's nose.

A muddy footprint marked his tray.

“Careful, that's my—”

He stopped and watched Blackbird stretch her wet wings.

Then he grinned.

“That's a very good splash.”

When Blackbird had finished, Little Fox brought over a leaf boat.

“Could we sail this?” he asked.

“I'll blow,” said Hedgehog.

“I'll make the waves,” said Blackbird.

The boat bobbed across their little puddle.

SPLISH!

“Again!” they cried.