The Story Shell: A Tale of Friendship Bog (2 page)

“Great idea,” Pibbin said. It was just like Gaffer to think about what his friends could use.

He left the old treefrog to his work and went back to help Skitter.

Maybe, just maybe, Leeper would show up soon.

“Still waiting for your friend?” Skitter put a tray of cookies into the oven. “I polished the story shell this morning,” she said. “I’m going to run down and dry it off. Then maybe the two of us could push it back inside.”

She paused beside a rack of crisp brown cookies. “Here, try these. You’ll like the pill-bugs. Take some for your backpack if you want.”

Yes, indeed! Pibbin took one bite after another. Crunchy!

He put three of them into his pack and started down the stairs.

A shriek came from outside.

“Oh, no! The story shell!”

Skitter stood on Gaffer’s deck.

Her eyes were wide. Her back was arched. Her tail twitched. She looked as if she would start crying at any minute.

Pibbin didn’t bother with questions. The shell should have been here, but it wasn’t.

He hopped toward the ferns at the base of Gaffer’s tree and looked into the hollow spot behind them.

Empty.

He frowned. Everyone knew about Story Night. How many of them knew about the shell’s hiding place?

Story Night happened each month, on a night when the moon was full. Friends would help Gaffer pull the shell out onto the deck, and he’d sit down next to it. After a few minutes, he’d begin one of his famous stories.

Pibbin turned back to the deck. Skitter was watching him. She twisted the cloth in her hands round and round.

“You said you polished it this morning?” Pibbin asked.

“Yes. I wanted it to be nice and clean for the party.”

Pibbin studied the deck. It was a wide, flat stone, big enough for a gathering of frogs or other small animals. Gaffer liked to say that it was a very old stone.

Sometimes the deck had footprints on it from friends who came to visit, but Skitter had scrubbed it clean.

“Oh, no!” Skitter stepped to the front of the deck. “More sand!”

Pibbin hopped over to see.

This was more than a sprinkle of sand.

Something deep inside him began to worry. Had someone . . . ?

Skitter swished her cloth through the sand. “Now I’ll have to sweep the deck again before tonight. Sand! It gets everywhere! I just can’t keep up with it.”

Pibbin looked at the ground under the trees. Pine needles and sand. And more sand.

He hopped off the deck. What about these tracks in the sand? They weren’t very clear, but they were sure big. Bigger than Skitter’s tracks would be, and much bigger than frog tracks.

He couldn’t find any tracks in the pine needles, but the ones in the sand seemed to be going toward the bog.

He tried not to think about someone quite large who had stood on Gaffer’s deck. Had that someone stolen the shell?

Do something!

He hopped behind the tree and found more tracks coming through the woods.

He listened to the peeper frogs who sang in the dangleberry bushes. If they had seen a thief, they weren’t saying.

He shook his head. When Leeper got here, he’d know what to do.

Skitter ran over to him. “I just thought of something. What about tonight?” Her face wrinkled. “Gaffer won’t be able to tell the story! Not if his story shell is gone.”

Pibbin stared at her. Gaffer’s presents were nice, but his story would be even better. It would be long and exciting, the peepers said. And it would be true.

Gaffer was going to tell about Friendship Bog, and everyone who built it, and how they had to fight to keep it safe.

He glanced again at the tracks in the sand. The shell was important to Gaffer, and the story was important to everyone.

Maybe . . .

He took a deep breath. “Don’t you think someone should look for Gaffer’s shell?”

“Oh, I hope so!” Skitter said. “That story was going to be his special gift to his friends.”

Pibbin thought about Gaffer’s warm smile and his mighty deeds of kindness.

Gaffer’s friends had plenty to say about the old treefrog.

Need someone to listen when you’re lonely or scared? —Talk to Gaffer.

Need someone to help when a fox digs up your home? —Talk to Gaffer.

Need a bite to eat when it’s freezing cold and you’re hungry? —Talk to Gaffer.

Didn’t he deserve to have a really happy birthday?

“I wonder . . .” Pibbin said.

“Go, go, go!” called the peepers.

Silly peepers! They always thought they knew everything.

He should wait for Leeper.

If he were
smart
, he’d wait for Leeper.

“Maybe a coon took it,” Skitter said. “Or a skunk. Or maybe one of those rats down at the bog. Somebody needs to find out.”

Her voice grew soft. “But not you, Pib. You’re kind of small. You know what I mean?”

Pibbin looked away from her. Too small?

The morning was almost gone, and the party was tonight.

Maybe he’d go down to the bog and check around. Maybe Leeper would be here soon.

He put on his backpack.

“If you see Leeper, please tell him to meet me at Woodpecker Log.”

Pibbin hopped along the shore of Friendship Bog. It must be as big as an ocean, because it stretched as far as he could see. The water lay smooth, without even a ripple around the lily pads.

Maybe Miss Green had seen something. He looked into tufts of grass and searched through bushes.

She didn’t seem to be anywhere around. That didn’t mean much. She was good at blending in with the grass and leaves.

Did he really want to ask any questions? Those tracks were big. Whoever had taken the shell wouldn’t want to give it back.

Scared? Without Leeper, yes.

He had a bitter taste in his mouth, like the first time he’d eaten a ladybug.

Maybe he should wait a while. He could stop off at Woodpecker Log and sit in the sun.

Oh, no! Carpenter was already there.

Pibbin snapped up a sawfly and looked again. Carpenter seemed to be taking a nap, so he would just tiptoe past.

He wasn’t much smaller than Carpenter, but something about the smart brown frog made him feel young and silly.

Carpenter had a wonderful click-etty voice. He was a whiz with tools, and he could build almost anything.

Pibbin had always wanted to be as smart as Carpenter, but he was no good with tools. He kept dropping them.

Carpenter opened one eye. “Hello, kiddo.”

He opened the other eye. “Just out for a walk, are you? Or lookin’ for mischief?”

Pibbin shrugged. “Oh, I’m just checking around.”

“For what?”

Pibbin saw a fat spider, leaned over to snap it up, and missed.

“The story shell,” he said.

“Did old Gaff forget where he put it?”

“I don’t think so.”

Carpenter closed his eyes. “Too bad. Maybe it’ll turn up.”

Pibbin kept going. He caught a glimmer of something green in a clump of grass.

A slender body uncoiled, and a dainty green head lifted toward him.

“Good day to you, Pibbin.” Miss Green’s voice had a tinkling sound to it. “Isn’t the bog lovely this morning?”