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THE GREAT PEACH PILFERAGE
by
Bruce E. Rodgers
William woke up and knew right away it was a snow day.
Sometimes you just know, and William knew. Everything sounded
quiet, and muffled, especially the traffic passing in front of
the house. The snowplow went by. He heard it scraping the
street; its tire chains made a whirring sound.
Downstairs, he heard the kitchen radio. He didn't hear
music on the radio, only talking. That was a good sign, he
thought. He heard his mother and father, but he couldn't
understand what they were saying. He imagined them deciding if
William were old enough to stay home alone, or if one of them
should stay home from work to take care of him. Finally, William
noticed one thing he wasn't hearing; he wasn't hearing his mother
call him, like she usually did in the morning. Another good
sign, he thought.
So, to William, everything he heard as he lay snug in his
warm bunk bed confirmed what he already knew the moment he woke:
SNOW DAY! SNOW DAY! SNOW DAY!
He pulled the covers up to his chin, squiggled around a bit
to find a nice comfortable spot, and thought how lucky he was.
Not only would he have a whole yard-full of brand new snow to
play in, but he'd have a whole day off from school to play in it.
And, it was almost Christmas. As he lay there, he made a list in
his mind of all the things he was going to do, from first to
last, and the first thing on the list was to sleep a little
longer. He pulled the covers up tight to his chin and he started
to drift off.
"William."
"What was that?" he thought. He rolled over and found a
cool place on the pillow. He started to sleep again.
"William! Come on, time to get up."
It was his mother. "Why isn't she letting me sleep? She
always lets me sleep on snow days," he thought.
His mother came into his room and brushed his blond hair
from his forehead.
"Let's go, Mister, you'll miss the bus," she said.
William opened one eye. It was his mother, all right. And
she wasn't kidding. He opened the other eye.
"What about the snow?" he asked. "Don't we have a snow day?"
"Snow?" she said. "What snow? William, it's September. You
just went back school, you want a day off already?" She opened
the curtains, and the sun hurt his eyes.
"Ohhhh," he said. He could have said a lot more. He had a
lot more to say. But that's all he said.
"I think you've been dreaming again. Let's hit the deck.
Breakfast in five minutes." She left the room, and William heard
music on the radio, and he heard cars whizzing by on the street
sounding just like they always do, and he said it again; "Ohhhh."
Nothing will put a kid in a bad mood faster than thinking
he's got a snow day when he doesn't, except thinking he's got a
snow day, and it's almost Christmas -- when it isn't. So that's
how William got in a bad mood.
* * * *
"Are you in a better mood yet?" Mrs. Diamond asked.
He turned around on the stool. "No."
"Then you just stay there."
That was just fine with him, he thought. He didn't want to
be practicing his multiplication with Willy Richmond, anyway.
Today he didn't like Willy Richmond or Mrs. Diamond, or anyone.
He thought Willy Richmond was a bully, and not too smart, and he
thought Mrs. Diamond was a mean old lady. But mostly, he didn't
like them because it wasn't a snow day and because it wasn't
Christmas.
The stool he sat on was made of plain wood. He touched it
with his hand. It reminded him of his stool at home. In his
bedroom, he had a small, red, three legged stool. It had once
belonged to his Grandpa Phillips who had used it for years to
milk his cows. Then, about three years ago, his grandpa sanded
it down and painted it up, and gave it to William for Christmas.
That little red, three legged stool was just about his
favorite thing. He had a lot of toys. He had a neat red
bicycle. He had a whole box of Star Wars toys and about ten or
eleven matchbox cars, and a closet full of other toys he'd
already forgotten about; but for some reason, that plain little
red stool was very special.
Sometimes William would sit on the stool, and with his toy
locomotive, pretend he was the Engineer of a big, long train
hauling important cargo across the country. Other times, he would
sit there and imagine his grandfather milking his cows out in the
barn on a cold morning. He could see wisps of steam rising off
the warm milk and swirling around the nostrils of the cows as
they breathed. He smelled the hay stacked in the loft high over
his head and he felt the uneven dirt floor under his feet. He
saw, and smelled, and felt all this, and more, in his mind,
sitting on that little red stool. William believed he could
imagine just about anything he wanted when he sat on the stool.
Thinking about his grandfather and the milk made him think
about ice cream. He loved ice cream, especially peach ice cream,
which was his favorite, and he remembered his grandfather telling
him about a big truck which came to the farm and bought his
milk. They took the milk and they made ice cream out of it and
it made William's Grandpa feel good that something so delicious
came from the milk he sold.
William imagined what it would be like to be an ice cream
maker. Instead of driving a plain truck, his truck would be red
and green and yellow and would have a big sign on each side which
read ICE CREAM. And most importantly, he'd make only one kind of
ice cream; peach. He'd tell his customers they could have any
kind of ice cream they wanted, as long as it was peach. And
people from all over the world would want his famous peach ice
cream.
* * * *
"Boss?"
William turned.
"Boss, are you okay?"
"What? Yeah, sure," William said, "just a little day
dreaming, that's all. What's the matter?"
"Problems. Big problems."
"Barney, you worry too much. It's Christmas time. There
are no problems."
Little beads of sweat dotted Barney's forehead. He took off
his glasses and wiped them on his white smock.
"But Boss --"
William put his arm around his nervous assistant. "Now,
Barney, my friend, take it easy. Tell me about these big
problems."
"Boss . . .," Barney took a long, dramatic pause. "Boss,
it's the peaches. They're gone! They're all gone, and I don't
know what happened to them, I don't know how they got gone, but
they're gone and they're not there and I'm sorry, and what are we
going to do without any peaches because without any peaches we
can't very well make peach ice cream which is the only --"
"Hold it, hold it, hold it." William put his hands on
Barney's shoulders and steered him over to a comfortable chair in
a corner of his office. "You're going to have to stop taking
things so seriously, or you're going to give yourself high blood
pressure. Were the peaches stolen?" asked William calmly.
"Yes! They must have been. The last I knew we had a whole
warehouse full of peaches. Business was so good, we bought all
the peaches there were, the whole fall harvest. We had more
peaches than you could shake a stick at. Everywhere you looked
there were peaches, peaches, peaches, and this morning -- nada.
Caput! Phhht!"
"Okay, thank you, Barney. I'll take care of it."
"What about the workers?"
"The workers?" asked William.
"They don't have anything to do," said Barney.
William walked out onto the shop floor. He saw the men and
women who were normally occupied making the world's best peach
ice cream, standing around in small groups, talking in whispers,
and looking concerned.
"We'll have to send them home," said William, "if we don't
have anything for them to do."
"But boss, we can't do that. If we send them home, we don't
pay them, and it's almost Christmas and they need the money for
their families. And tonight was supposed to be the company
Christmas party. We have to get peaches!"
"Have them take a break."
"They're on a break, boss."
"Then tell them to take another one. I'll think of
something." William turned and went back into his office, closing
the door behind him.
He sat at his desk and pulled on his lower lip. He didn't
know what to do. He knew he couldn't get anymore peaches because
he had already bought every single peach that was harvested, and
there were no more left, anywhere. He just didn't know what to
do.
"Pssst."
William looked up. He thought he'd heard something, but ...
"Pssst! Hey!"
This time he stood up. He was sure he heard a voice, but --
there wasn't anyone in the room with him.
"Hey! Kid! Over here."
The voice came from the corner of the office, behind the
comfortable chair.
William walked over to the chair and moved it away from the
wall. There standing before him was the largest mouse he'd ever
seen. William's mouth hung open, and his eyes were as wide as
frisbees.
"What's the matter, never seen a mouse before?"
Well, the fact was, William never had seen a mouse like this
one. This mouse was big; the top of his head came up to
William's knee, and he was dressed in a white stocking cap, a red
wool muffler, and a little green jacket. He stood next to a huge
hole in the wall with his hands on his hips, looking up at
William.
"Listen, big shot, I want to talk to you about something. I
want to talk to you about the heat in this place. Look at me,
this is ridiculous. I've got to wear this hat and scarf inside
just to keep warm. This is no way to live. What kind of a joint
you runnin' here?"
William walked back to his desk and sat in his big, soft,
leather chair. He hoped all of this was just a dream, that it
wasn't almost Christmas, that there were plenty of peaches in the
warehouse, and that there wasn't a mouse standing in a corner of
his office, demanding better living conditions. It was all too
crazy.
But even as he thought this, the mouse hopped up on the
chair and from the chair over to William's large oak desk.
William was so startled, he almost toppled over backward.
"Hey, take it easy, Kid. I ain't resortin' to violence --
yet." The mouse sat on the edge of the desk, with his crossed
legs dangling over the side. He leaned back on one arm. "What
I'm sayin' is, I think we got room to negotiate, here." And with
that, he took a small nail file from his pocket and proceeded to
file his nails.
There was a knock on William's door. "Boss? How are things
in there? Have you figured something out?"
William looked at the mouse, and then at the door.
The mouse looked up at William. "You gonna answer him?"
said the mouse.
"Uh, uh, hang on a few more minutes, Barney. I'm -- I'm a
little busy right now."
"Oh, yeah, sure, okay, boss," said Barney, and he went away.
The mouse spoke without looking at William."So, you got
problems. We all got problems. You're outta peaches, and I'm
freezin' my tail off in there." He continued filing his nails
and occasionally blowing the dust from them and polishing them on
his green jacket. It was all almost more than William could
bear.
The mouse turned and pointed with the little nail file as he
spoke. "Look, maybe we can work together on this."
"What are you talking about," said William.
"What I'm sayin' is; maybe a certain -- mouse, has certain
--information on the whereabouts of certain -- fruit, if you
follow my drift. And maybe, if this certain mouse helped you
find the a-forementioned fruit, and perchance nab the depraved
peach pilferer, we could do something about the standard of
livin' around this place."
There was another knock on the door. "Boss?"
"What is it, Barney?"
"Boss, I don't mean to rush you, but we're getting orders
here left and right, and I don't know what to do. I mean we're
getting calls from some very important people who want their ice
cream in time for Christmas, and I don't know what to tell them.
What do you want me to say?"
William stood up and paced for a minute. He turned and
looked at the mouse. "You think you can get our peaches back?"
The mouse snapped his fingers. "Nothin' to it."
"What'd you say, Boss?"
"I said, tell the customers they'll have all the ice cream
they want, whenever they want it. And tell the people to get the
place decorated, we're having a Christmas party tonight."
The mouse jumped off the desk and stood in front of the
chair. He smiled at William and winked. "You got spunk, Kid. I
like that. Meet me in the truck -- five minutes," and he
scurried under the chair and disappeared through the hole in the
wall.
"Wait!" said William
The mouse poked his head back through the hole. "Yeah?"
"What do I call you?"
"Lance," said the mouse. "It's my stage name. Five
minutes." He winked at William once again, and disappeared.
* * * *
"Left at the stop sign, left at the third light, and turn
right onto Main Street."
William stepped on the brakes. "Wait a minute, where are
we going?"
"Look, Kid, you want the fruit, you do what I say."
William pulled out into traffic and headed toward main
street.
"What kind of a rig is this?" asked Lance.
"It's an ice cream truck," answered William.
"I know it's an ice cream truck. I can read. You've got
that big sign on the side that says 'ICE CREAM.' I know 'ice
cream' when I read it."
"Sorry," said William.
"That's okay," said Lance, pausing for a moment. "What I
meant was, is this old hunk of junk a Packard or a Desoto or
what?"
"Flopmeister," replied William, "Nineteen thirty-eight."
"A '38 Flopmeister? Never heard of it. How fast will she
go?"
"I don't know. An ice cream truck doesn't have to go very
fast."
"It does now," said Lance.
"What do you mean?" asked William.
"We're being tailed."
"Followed? We're being followed?"
"In the movies, we call it 'tailed'. Don't you watch TV?
Turn here."
"How do you know?" asked William, turning the old truck down
a narrow alley.
"See this?" said Lance tapping his shiny black nose with his
well-manicured finger, "Got a nose for it. Look in your mirror.
See a black '83 Camero, Z-28, with tinted windows?"
William looked in the mirror, and sure enough, there was a
black, 1983 Chevy Camero with dark, tinted windows. On the front
grill was the insignia, Z-28. He heard the low rumble of its
powerful exhaust. Suddenly, he had an awful feeling deep in his
stomach. He looked over at Lance. "You're right," he said.
Lance smiled, but stared straight ahead. Just then, the
truck came to the end of the alley. William couldn't stop
looking in the mirror, expecting at any moment, to see guns
bristling out of every window of the Camero.
"Left," said the mouse.
William turned left. The Camero turned left. Lance looked
over at William.
"Ever hear of a Flopmeister beating a Z-28?"
"Are you kidding?" said William.
The little mouse jumped up on the seat where he could get a
better perspective and grabbed hold of the window frame. "Then
let's make history! LET'S LOSE THIS SUCKER!!!"
William, caught up in the Lance's excitement, slammed the
pedal to the floor. But instead of neck-snapping acceleration,
the old truck, far more accustomed to the screams of excited
children than to the cry of battle, smoked and sputtered and
backfired two -- three times. But then, by some miracle, perhaps
moved by the dim memory of its early years, the faithful
Flopmeister seemed to rear back on its haunches and launch itself
forward. William barely hung on to the steering wheel as they
flew down the street.
Lance stuck his head out the window so that his white
stocking cap and red muffler were streaming in the wind, and he
waved his fist at the Camero which was just now emerging from the
smoke of the truck's initial hesitation. "RIGHT! HANG A RIGHT!"
he yelled, and William pulled on the steering wheel. As the big
truck swung around the corner, its inside wheels lifted off the
ground and they were in clear danger of tipping over. But the
wheels came down again with a thump and the truck flew down the
street.
"FASTER! FASTER!" yelled Lance.
William fought the wheel as truck bounced up and down and
lurched from side to side. But nothing was going to deter him.
He was going to find his peaches, employ his workers, and make
the best peach ice cream in the world.
Left and right, and left and right, the old truck dove in
and out of traffic, through stop lights, down alleys, up hills,
around corners.
William yelled to Lance: "Who are these guys, anyway?"
"Melba's men!" he yelled back.
William was too busy driving to ask him more.
The tired, old Flopmeister and the hot Z-28 chased each
other through the city, and around the city zooming down streets
and racing up avenues; engines roaring and tires screaming. But
if the truck couldn't outrun the Camero, neither could the Camero
stop the truck. And through the entire chase, Lance stood on the
seat, his head out the window yelling: "FASTER! FASTER! TURN
RIGHT! TURN LEFT! GO FOR IT! WAY TO GO, KID!"
The truck and the Camero lept over the railroad tracks and
wound through the streets of Lowertown; a collection of shacks
and ramshackle cottages that made up the seedier side of the
city. Lance seemed to know the neighborhood well as he yelled
his directions in to William.
Suddenly, the truck was jolted by a blast of winter wind,
common in this part of the country, and out of the corner of his
eye William saw three trash cans tumbling across an empty lot,
heading right for him. Instinctively, he swerved hard to the
right, lifting the left wheels off the ground, then hard to the
left, lifting the right wheels off the ground, and the cans flew
just behind the rear wheels of the truck, directly in the path of
the Camero. The Camero tried to avoid the cans, but skidded on
ice and spun-out against a light pole.
Watching this all in the mirror, William yelled and cheered
to see that they were safe, but in his enthusiasm, he hadn't
noticed that his quick maneuvering had thrown the mouse off the
seat and out the window. Lance's legs flapped in the wind with
his hat and scarf, and only his powerful grip on the window frame
held him to the Flopmeister at all.
"HEY! HEY, KID! SLOW DOWN! SLOW DOWN!"
William stepped on the brakes, and stopped the truck. Lance
clammored in, looking a little pale, but still excited.
"Way to go, kid. Nice drivin'," he said. "Now that's my
idea of excitement."
William sat back in his seat and realized that his heart was
pounding and that he was sweating. If that was excitement, he
thought, it was enough for him for the day. He wiped his brow
with his sleeve, and turned to Lance. "What do we do now?" he
asked.
"End of the street, turn right."
William did as instructed, but as the truck coasted down the
street, he didn't like the look of things. The sky, which had
been clear and blue when they started out, had become gray and
dense, and the buildings all looked sly and forbidding. Two or
three times he thought he saw something, a movement or a gesture
out of the corner of his eye, but when he looked, he saw nothing.
The street was empty; no cars, no people. And it was silent,
very silent.
William turned to Lance. "I don't like this at all. This
is spooky."
"Pull over and stop here," said the mouse.
"You're kidding," said William.
"Moi? Kid you? Come on, we're gonna get those peaches
back."
William parked the truck in front of an old brick building
that looked as if it had once been a garage but had, at some time
been converted into something else. Bricks were missing, or were
cracked or broken, and the roof sagged here and there, and in
places, was missing shingles. In the center of the roof, a rusty,
tin chimney poked through, and out of it poured smoke. All
around were discarded papers, and cans, and the snow on the
ground was a dirty dark brown. But at the same time, the air was
filled with the most pleasant smell. It was a familiar smell,
something that reminded him of his mother, and of his home and of
growing up, but he couldn't quite place it.
"Hey, kid, wake up," whispered Lance. "Come on, follow me."
And he climbed out of the truck and began to sneak around the
side of the building.
"Wait a minute," said William. "You go -- and let me know
what you find. I'll -- I'll stay here and guard the truck."
"No way, Jose," said the mouse. "We're in this together."
And he continued on along the side of the building.
William climbed down reluctantly. "Where we going?" he yelled.
The mouse whirled around. "Shhhh," he said. "Zip it up,
blabbermouth and follow me, before you blow the whole thing."
The mouse and William crept very slowly around to the rear
of the building and stopped beside a broken-down wooden door.
Lance leaned over to William. "Ain't this place the pits?"
he said. "Lived here five years, couldn't take the dump anymore.
That's when I moved uptown, to your place."
"What's that smell?" whispered William. "It smells
delicious."
"You'll see," said Lance, and he took the old wooden door
and opened it a crack.
William moved in behind the mouse and looked through the
crack. All he saw was the back of a big rocking chair sitting in
a big room, and a huge cooking stove, glowing with warmth.
Lance slipped in through the crack in the door and waved for
William to follow. William didn't want to follow him, but he did
anyway.
Once inside, the mouse signalled for William to turn around,
and when he did, he saw piles and piles of peaches, his peaches;
not all the peaches that had been stolen, but perhaps half. And
behind the peaches was another huge storeroom crammed full of
pears.
Step by step, Lance and William crept up behind the rocking
chair. It creaked as it rocked on the wooden floor, and smoke,
smelling like sweet pipe tobacco, curled up over the head if its
occupant. Yet overwhelming the sweet tobacco, was the mouth-
watering scent which William couldn't quite place.
The chair stopped rocking. William thought his heart stopped
beating too and all at once his throat became dry.
"Morning, Lance, what took you do long?" said a voice from
the chair.
William thought he was going to faint. The voice was low
and curious sounding. Not at all what he expected.
Lance shrugged his shoulders at William and walked around to
the front of the chair. William tried to sneak out the way they
came in.
"Hey, Kid, come on. It's too late now. You can outsmart a
lotta people, but you can't outsmart Melba."
William turned around and walked slowly up beside the mouse,
facing the chair. Lance pulled out his little file and began to
work on his nails again.
"Kid, I want you to meet Melba -- Peach Melba."
William found himself looking at a little old lady who
reminded him very much of his old second grade teacher, Mrs.
Diamond. He was surprised to see her smoking a pipe. Her face
was wrinkled and pale, but her eyes were alive and sparkling.
She took the pipe out of her mouth and said; "So, you're the
little hotshot who bought up all my peaches."
William, immediately forgetting his fear, straightened
himself up, took a step forward, and said; "Those were MY
peaches, and you stole them from ME!"
"Did not!" said Melba.
"Did so!" replied William
"Did not!"
"Did so!"
"Not!"
"So!"
"Not!"
"TIME OUT!" said Lance, rolling his eyes and stepping
between them. "Let's just talk about it, okay?"
"Got nothing to talk about," said the old lady, jamming the
pipe back in her mouth. She folded her arms, looked away, and
started rocking. "A lotta nerve," she mumbled to herself.
"We're taking our peaches back," said William. "I've got
people waiting. Where'd you hide the rest of them?"
Melba stopped rocking, focused her eyes hard on William, and
pointed at him with the stem of her pipe. "You'll do nothing of
the kind, Hotshot."
Lance reached up and grabbed William by the back pocket. "Be
cool, Kid. Let me handle this," he whispered.
William stepped back.
"He had no right buyin' up all them peaches," said Melba.
"How was I supposed to make my peach melba? I got orders commin'
in from all over, people who heard 'bout my melba, and he's got
all the peaches making ice cream. I make the best peach melba in
he world!"
"And I make the best peach ice cream in the world!" said
William.
The mouse held up his hand. "Kid, please!"
"Besides, I already used up most half them peaches. Been
makin' my melba the whole night long."
Just then, two men burst into the room. One wore a flannel
shirt and a down vest. The other wore a tattered wool coat, and
looked as if he was missing a tooth. Both of them looked bruised
and dirty.
"There they are, let's get 'em," said the one with the
flannel shirt.
"You get the mouse, I'll get the kid," said the other who
reminded him of his old grade school friend, Willy Randolph. And
they started to come at William and Lance.
"Hold it, boys," said Melba.
"They wrecked my new car," whined the flannel shirt.
"Put it right up side a pole," said the other.
"Be quiet, you two!" said Melba shaking her head. She
looked at Lance. "Ever since you left, ain't had a peaceful day
to myself. These two gotta be the dumbest two humans ever to
walk the earth."
"Had to follow my star," said Lance.
"Sent 'em out to buy me peaches, and they come back with a
load'a pears. Pears! You probably seen 'em back there. Whole
room full." She turned to William. "Good thing all you had was
peaches, 'cause they woulda come back with the wrong fruit, sure
as anything."
William smiled at the lady. He didn't seem to be angry with
her anymore.
Melba puffed on her pipe and stared off in the distance.
"And who ever heard of pear melba?" she said.
But when she said that, Lance's ears pricked up, and his
whiskers began to vibrate. "Melba," he said, rubbing his hands
together, "that gives me an idea. Are you in the mood to
negotiate?"
* * * *
By three o'clock, the factory was all decorated. Red and
green ribbon was strung from the ceiling and was reflected in the
gleaming stainless steel vats which were normally full of ice
cream. The finishing touches had been added to the Christmas
tree, and the workers once again gathered in small groups,
concerned that William wouldn't find the peaches and save their
jobs and their Christmas.
But suddenly the door flew open and in walked William.
Everyone was silent, waiting to hear what he would say.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I have the solution to our problem."
He heard a great sigh of relief.
William moved aside, and in walked Lance, toting a
wheelbarrow full of pears.
Everyone was very puzzled. "But Boss, those aren't peaches,
they're pears!" yelled Barney. "And where'd you find the giant
mouse?" The whole factory buzzed with conversation, and some of
the people were obviously afraid of Lance.
But Lance had no sooner gotten in the door when in behind
him walked Peach Melba, and behind her, her two henchmen grunting
and sweating and carrying her huge cooking stove.
William raised his hands and asked everyone to be quiet.
"Ladies and Gentleman, I know you're wondering what's going
on. For years, now, you've been helping me make the best peach
ice cream in the world. And peach was the only kind of ice cream
we made . . ."
Well, William explained about the pears, and about his new
partner, Peach Melba, and how together they would launch a whole
new flavor of ice cream and a whole new kind of melba, and how
everyone was going to have as much work as they wanted.
With that news, everyone was very happy, and they pitched
in, worked very hard, and filled every order for ice cream AND
for Melba. Soon after, the Christmas party began.
During the party, William noticed that he hadn't seen Lance
and he walked into his office to look for the mouse.
When he entered, Lance was sitting in the comfortable chair,
once again, filing his nails. His short little legs didn't even
come to the edge of the cushion. He wore a tiny pair of
sunglasses. "Was wonderin' when you'd miss me," he said.
William noticed two miniature suitcases resting on the chair
beside the mouse. "Going somewhere?"
"Yeah," he said, without looking up. "Headin' out to the
Coast. If you wanna be a star, that's where you gotta be. That's
where Mickey and Minney made it. And Mighty, too. Besides,
weather's great in Hollywood. Can't take the cold like I used
to."
"I could fix you up with a nice warm place here," said
William. "That was my end of the bargain."
"Thanks, Kid, but I'm gone. I got this sudden craving for
blonds and hot tubs."
William started feeling sad. He had come to like the mouse,
and he didn't really want him to leave. He went to his desk and
sat down. "What a day," he thought.
"William!"
"Who's that?" asked William.
"Who's who?" replied Lance.
"William, come on!"
"That. That voice. It sounds familiar."
"Beats me," said Lance. "I think you're hearing things."
"My mother. It's my mother," he said excitedly.
* * * *
He opened one eye. It was his mother, all right. He opened
the other eye.
"Are you going to sleep all day? There's a whole yard full
of snow out there to play in and you've got the day off from
school," she said.
"A snow day?" asked William.
"That's right," she said as she left the room. "Breakfast in
five minutes."
As William sat up and watched her walk down the hall toward
the kitchen, he noticed the red and green ribbons he'd strung
across the ceiling for decoration, and the little red stool
sitting in the corner. He smiled as he fell back on the bed,
feeling better, and happier than he'd ever felt before.
THE END
Copyright 1983
Bruce E. Rodgers
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