The Story Shell: A Tale of Friendship Bog (6 page)

Pibbin looked at the logs and stumps and lily pads. It would be a fine place to explore.

Zip was already climbing the tree, and her claws made scratching sounds on the bark.

“Come on up,” she said. “The shell’s right here on my porch.”

He soon reached the sturdy platform outside her door. A pot of white flowers stood there, and nothing else.

“Oh, no! No! NO!” Zip spun around in a full circle. “Where did it go?”

She leaned through the door and called in a sharp little voice. “Alix! Beeba! Cran! Duffy! Come here.”

Scamper. Scurry. Swish.

Four young squirrels dropped onto the porch and lined up.

Zip stood in front of them, looking annoyed. “I left a shell on the porch,” she said. “What happened to it?”

Silence.

“Alix! Speak up.”

The tallest squirrel said, “It fell.”

“Where?”

“Into the bog.”

Pibbin looked down at the water. The shell wouldn’t float, not for long.

His hopes sank into the mud at the bottom of the bog.

Zip’s eyes sparked fire. “And why did it fall?”

The squirrel with a bow on her tail stepped forward. “Duffy. He was playing one of his crazy games.”

“Duffy, what happened?” 

He was the smallest, and his tail drooped. “It just sort of slipped out of my paws.”

Zip’s tail flicked back and forth in a red blur. “You should never have taken it, Duffy. How many times do I have to tell you—think before you do things! You will scrub the back porch and miss your reading time today.”

Her voice rose higher. “And Beeba, you should have let Duffy tell me for himself. No reading time for you, either. Go tidy up your room.”

The four squirrels scrambled away, and Zip turned to Pibbin.

He wanted to say,
You shouldn’t have taken it, Zip. No reading time for you, either.
But he kept his mouth shut.

He had to think of something. A plan.

Zip said how sorry she was, and she took a long time saying it.

By the time she finished, he was thinking about rope.

No, rope would be too heavy. String.

“I need some string,” he said. “A lot of it.”

Carpenter would have string,” she said. “He lives near us, at Carpenter Point.”

Pibbin knew very well where Carpenter lived.

He had tried to stay away from Carpenter Point ever since the Hammer Incident. That’s when he’d dropped Carpenter’s best hammer into the deepest part of the bog.

No one had ever found it. And Carpenter had never forgotten.

He would get Zip to ask for the string.

“And I need a pulley,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“It’s for pulling things up.”

“It sounds like the kind of thing Carpenter would have, too.”

“Could you run over and ask him?”

Zip began to nod, but a thin wail came from inside her house. “Oh, Emma! I almost forgot.”

She sighed. “I need to help her. I hope you don’t mind? I’ll get your string later.”

Pibbin glanced at the sun. Already, it was low in the sky.

How late would
later
be? Too late?

He’d have to go find Carpenter himself.

Carpenter did not look pleased to see him. “You again, kiddo? I don’t have anything else for you to lose.”

He turned away to finish smoothing a stick.

Pibbin made his voice strong and grown-up. “I’m really sorry about your hammer. Could we please borrow some string and a pulley?”

“Probably not. What for?”

“Gaffer’s shell. It’s in the bog.”

Carpenter frowned. “You drop it in there?”

“No, not me. One of Zip’s children. Over by her tree.”

Carpenter swung around. “That Zip, she’s a nice person, ya know. She always brings me black-ant cookies.” He put down his sandpaper. “How much string?”

Pibbin had thought about that. “A lot.”

Carpenter took a coil of string from his work bench. “I’d better come see.”

He stopped. “Pulley. Not a bad idea.”

He went to the tools that hung on the wall and chose a small wooden pulley.

It looked like a wheel, and it had raised edges to keep the string from slipping off. At the bottom end was a hole.

Pibbin knew that Carpenter had carved it himself. He’d sure better not lose it.

He followed Carpenter out of the workshop. So far, so good.

But now he had to find the shell.

“I’ll dive down and look around for it,” he said to Carpenter.

The frog nodded. “Better do that before I risk my tools. Might be anywhere. Or nowhere. Some big fish could have eaten it. Like a pickerel.”

Pibbin shivered. A pickerel might just as happily eat
him.

The older frogs told chilling stories about pickerels and their pointed teeth. Maybe there wouldn’t be any pickerels hunting at this end of the bog.

When they reached Zip’s tree, the tallest squirrel child scampered up to meet them.

“Hi! I’m Alix. Mom said I could help you.”

“Okay, good.” Pibbin handed him the coil of string. “See this string? Take it and climb up to the branch where your brother was playing.”

“Tie it on?” Alix said.

“Yes. Then let the rest fall into the water.”

Alix started off, but Pibbin said, “Wait. We need . . . .”

He glanced at the hammer in Carpenter’s belt. It was just the right size.

Carpenter was watching them work, but his face did not look helpful.

Forget the hammer.

“Can you find something heavy?” Pibbin asked Alix. “We need to tie it to the end of the string before you drop it, so it won’t float.”

“Sure.” Alix scurried up the tree.

Pibbin took off his backpack, hopped onto a lily pad, and dived into the bog.

Branches, twigs, roots, and leaves lay tangled together in the tea-colored water.

Underneath them would be plenty of soft, deep mud.

A shell could fall anywhere here and never be seen again.

Something splashed into the water, not far away.

Alix had tied a small frying pan onto the end of the string, and it fell straight down, all the way into the mud.

Maybe the shell had landed near there.

Dive!

Where had it gone?

All he could see was stumps and branches and logs.

Dive again. Deeper.

Water-lily roots. Soggy leaves. Rotted twigs.

But what was this? A gleam of something white, down in the leaves and mud.

He touched the shell gently. Yes, it was Gaffer’s shell. If it weren’t so big, he could pick it up, but that’s where the pulley would help.

He crawled out onto a wide stump and hopped from log to log until he reached the shore.

“I found the shell,” he said to Carpenter.

Carpenter handed him the pulley, looking reluctant. “Don’t get it wet, and don’t let it fall into the mud.”

“I’ll take good care of it,” Pibbin said.

Alix was waiting on the stump.

“We need a piece of strong thread too,” Pibbin said to him.

A minute later, the squirrel came back with the thread. “What’s this for?”

“I’m going to dive down and tie the shell to the pulley. Then we’ll see.”

He handed the pulley to Alix. “Hang onto this. I’ll be right back.”

The shell had a curved tip, so it wasn’t hard to fasten the thread to it. He crawled back out onto the stump and tied the thread to the hole in the pulley.

“Okay,” he said. “Now for the string. Don’t let go of the pulley.”

Back in the water, he pushed Zip’s frying pan up onto the stump. He climbed out and untied it.

“Hold tight to that pulley,” he said.

He worked the end of the string into the pulley and made sure that the string slid smoothly when he pulled some of it through.

For the first time, he felt like smiling.

“Wonk!
We’re all set,” he said to Alix. “Now you’re going take this end of the string and run a little way up the tree.”

He looked over at Carpenter. Watching them. Alix was still holding the pulley, and Pibbin reached for it.

Chewink flew low over their heads.
“Chee-eeee! Awk-awk-hawk!”
he cried.

Alix dropped the pulley into Pibbin’s hands, scrambled back to shore, and darted up the tree.

Carpenter ducked under a bush.

Pibbin slipped into the water and held the pulley above his head, against the side of the stump. He hunched low.

A shadow drifted across the bog and landed on a limb of Zip’s tree.

Pibbin gripped the pulley. He closed his eyes. His heart was pounding much too loudly. Could the hawk hear it? He tried to look like a bit of moss on the side of the stump.

Everything in the bog seemed to be holding its breath.

After a long time, wings rustled.

Pibbin opened his eyes. The hawk soared off across the water and out of sight.

Slowly, Pibbin climbed back onto the stump with the pulley.

Where was Carpenter? Still watching.

Alix inched his way down the tree, with Zip behind him. She followed him out to the stump, taking quick little hops as she went from log to log.

Good. He could use her help.

Pibbin kept one hand on the pulley and gave the end of the string to Alix. “You remember what to do?”

“Take it up the tree.”

“Yes. Don’t go too fast. Maybe wrap it around that branch up there.”

Alix leaped to shore, holding the string in his teeth, and began to climb the tree.