The Story Shell: A Tale of Friendship Bog (3 page)

He nodded.

Her bright black eyes didn’t miss a thing. “You look upset,” she said.

Miss Green wasn’t as frightening as the bigger snakes, and she gave him good advice. Sometimes, she seemed to read his mind.

He sat beside her. “Gaffer’s story shell is missing,” he said. “Leeper hasn’t come back yet. And Skitter . . .”

No. He wasn’t going to tell her what Skitter had said.

Miss Green dipped her head. “I’m sorry to hear about the shell. You really want to find it, don’t you? And now, I guess you’re feeling kind of small?”

“Yes.”

Sometimes he felt so small that he could hardly move or even think.

Like the time a fox came slipping up beside them. He should have just hopped into the water, but he didn’t think of that.

If Leeper hadn’t done one of his zig-zag jumps in front of the fox, Pibbin would have been fox-lunch for sure.

Miss Green said, “I can’t imagine Gaffer without his story shell. Isn’t his birthday party tonight?”

“Yes.”

She swayed so close that he could have counted the gleaming green scales on her back.

“You’ve got a big heart, Pibbin, and a quick mind,” she said.

“I’m not very brave.”

“Brave is when you’re scared, and you do it anyway.”

She paused. “Now, let’s think.”

He always felt better when she said that.

“I saw the shell this morning, on his deck.” She coiled herself into three shining loops. “Did you take a good look in the woods around Gaffer’s tree?”

He told her about the sand and the tracks.

“I knew you’d pick up some clues! You said they were big tracks. Do you mean wide or long?”

“Kind of wide and kind of long. With smaller tracks, too.”

“A rabbit,” she said. “I did see one of Mrs. Rabbit’s little girls coming down the path from Gaffer’s house. You might want to check over in Ticklegrass Field.”

And he might want to wait for Leeper.

But Miss Green was smiling at him, and just for a minute, he felt as bold as a bullfrog.

He set off for Ticklegrass Field

The grass in Ticklegrass Field was so thick and so tall that it seemed like a forest. He hopped along a mouse-path and kept an eye on the tips of the grass.

Soon he could tell that he was getting close to the rabbit. She must be eating, because the grass trembled with each bite she took.

His legs trembled, too.

He slipped quietly between the grassy clumps until he stood behind her.

What was her name? He couldn’t remember. Mrs. Rabbit had such a big family!

Even though this was one of the smaller rabbit sisters, she was about five times bigger than he was. Would she even talk to him?

He hopped closer, and she jerked her head around. “What’s a treefrog doing out here?”

Her dark eyes looked worried, as if she thought he might be carrying a knife in his pack.

“I came to ask you about the shell,” he said.

“Shell?” She ripped through another stalk of grass, and he wished for a nice safe bush to climb into.

Her whiskers were twitching.

Did they always twitch? Or did she know something? He should make it sound important.

“Gaffer the Gray Treefrog owns a shell that we value highly,” he said. “It is missing.”

“Why me?” The rabbit swung away from him, and all he could see was her back. It looked like a furry gray mountain.

But what about her ears? The tips of them were turning pink.

He hopped around to face her. “Miss Green saw you coming down the path from Gaffer’s house.”

“So what?”

Pibbin tried to think what else he could say. If Leeper were here, he’d jump on her back or something. Then she’d talk.

“I have to find that shell,” he said.

“Kinda cute, aren’t you? I love that purple stripe of yours.” She nibbled on a blade of grass. “I’d help if I could.”

He waited.

“Okay, okay. The shell was on his deck. Skitter always said that Gaffer kept his stories in it. So I stopped to take a look. I was going to just put a paw on it, but then I thought I’d borrow it.”

“Why?”

“Because at night, we all sit around telling stories, and I never have one that’s any good.”

Her ears turned pink again. “I wanted to use one of Gaffer’s stories. But I rolled that shell all around, and nothing came out.”

Pibbin stared. She must think stories were like acorns that you could keep in a hollow tree.

“Where is the shell now?” he asked.

“Gone.”

This was taking much too long. “Gone where?”

“I was taking it back, and a fox started chasing me. I had to let go of it.”

Her ears quivered. “Then I went to look for it, and it was gone.”

“Someone must have picked it up,” Pibbin said slowly. “Shells don’t have feet.”

It wasn’t a very clever thing to say, but he wasn’t feeling the least bit clever right now. If Leeper were here, what would he do next?

“Why don’t you ask Chewink?” She sat up to look across the tops of the grass. “He’s over in that tree. Hear him?”

“Che-wink! Che-wink! Che-wink!”
The towhee’s cheerful voice rang out across the bog.

A good idea. The little bird flew all over, and he saw many things.

Perhaps this wouldn’t be so hard, after all.

“Thanks,” Pibbin said, and he hopped through the grass as quickly as he could.

By the time he got there, Chewink was down on the ground, scratching under a bush for bugs.

Pibbin climbed into the bush. “Excuse me,” he said. “I’m looking for Gaffer’s story shell. Have you seen anyone carrying it?”

Chewink glanced up at him.
“Drink-yer-teeee,”
he said. “I heard it was missing. That’s such a shame.”

He gave a quick nod. “The rabbit you talked to. She had it.”

“Yes, but she dropped it. Someone else must have found it.”

Chewink bent his black head and snapped up a beetle. “Hmmm. Zip carried something out of Ticklegrass a little while ago.”

Pibbin curled his toes around the branch. Zip had sharp teeth, sharp claws, and a sharp voice. She moved even faster than he did.

“She wouldn’t want a shell, would she?” he said. “Maybe someone else picked it up.”

The bird cocked his head. “I wondered how she could have found a nut in all that grass. You never know with Zip. She’s a bit wacky sometimes, like her uncle.”

Pibbin sighed. “Where does she live?”

“Chee-eeee!”
The bird chirped a sudden warning and flew up into a tree.

Pibbin crouched low and pressed so close to the leaves that he looked like part of the bush.

Someone quite large was shuffling through the underbrush. A skunk?

No, it was a young beaver. He wore a cap that said, BOSS.

Chewink called from his branch.
“
Drink-yer-teee
, BOSS. You’re out early today.”

The beaver stopped to look up at him. “Hi! What’s new?”

“We were just talking about Gaffer’s shell. It’s missing.”

BOSS shrugged. “Who’s Gaffer, and who cares about his shell?”

Pibbin stayed still. Everybody in Friendship Bog knew Gaffer the Gray. What was the matter with this kid?

Chewink fluttered down to a bush and gave the young beaver a stare. “Gaffer is our friend. His shell is important. Do you know where Zip lives?”

“The squirrel, right?” BOSS said. “I know where everybody lives.”

“Okay,” Chewink said. “My friend here needs to talk to her. Could you show him how to get there?”

Wait a minute,
Pibbin wanted to say. He had never done much with beavers. So big! Even this one, who was only a kid, looked huge.

But Leeper hadn’t come yet, and it was almost noon.

He thought about Gaffer’s kind face. Their old friend should have the best birthday ever.

He hopped to a lower branch so BOSS could see him.