The Button That Rolled Away

Hello, and welcome to Thimblewick Lane. Snuggle down under your blanket. Let your shoulders go soft. Tonight’s story is called The Button That Rolled Away.

At the very bottom of a big green garden, past the tall grass and the sleepy sunflowers, there grows an old, tall plant. Its leaves are wide, like green umbrellas. And underneath the biggest leaf, where the ground is cool and smells of rain, there is a little lane.

It is called Thimblewick Lane.

The lane is made of smooth, flat pebbles, grey and white and pale pink. Along each side there are tiny shops. Each one is no bigger than a teapot. They have round windows, and little doors, and chimneys that puff thin curls of smoke.

It was the end of the day on Thimblewick Lane. The sky above the big leaf had turned the colour of peaches. A blackbird was singing somewhere far away, slow and sweet. And the air was warm and still.

In the button shop, Pip Hazel the hedgehog was tidying up.

Pip loved her shop. She had jars and jars of buttons.

Red buttons, and blue buttons. Buttons made of shell, that shone like the inside of the sea. Buttons made of wood, that felt smooth and warm in your paw. Every evening, Pip counted them, slowly, and put them back in their jars.

“One, two, three,” she whispered, dropping shiny green buttons into a jar. Clink. Clink. Clink.

She liked that sound. It was a quiet, tidy sound.

But tonight, when Pip came to the very special jar, the jar of golden buttons, she stopped. She counted once. She counted twice.

There should have been seven golden buttons. But there were only six.

“Oh,” said Pip softly. “Where has the seventh one gone?”

She looked on the counter. She looked under the counter. She looked in the pocket of her apron, which had a little patch on it shaped like a leaf. But the golden button was not there.

Pip took a slow breath. In through her nose, and out through her mouth. That is what Nana Moss always told her to do when something felt a little bit wobbly.

“I’ll go and look outside,” said Pip. “Perhaps it rolled away.”

She opened her little door. Ting-a-ling went the bell. And out she stepped, onto the cool smooth pebbles of Thimblewick Lane.

Next door was the bakery. It was built inside an upturned teacup, white with blue flowers painted round the edge. A lovely smell drifted out of it. Warm bread. Honey. A little bit of cinnamon.

Inside were Juniper and Fen, the two wren bakers. Juniper was sweeping up crumbs and humming. Fen was pressing his small wing gently onto a loaf to see if it was ready.

“Hello, Pip!” said Juniper. “You look like you’re looking for something.”

“I am,” said Pip. “I’ve lost a golden button. Have you seen one?”

Fen looked up. He couldn’t hear, but he watched Pip’s face, and Pip made the little sign for button, a tiny circle with her paw. Fen smiled and signed back, slowly, so Pip could follow. Not here. But we will help.

“Thank you, Fen,” Pip signed back.

So the three of them looked together. They looked behind the flour sacks, which were soft and puffy, like pillows. They looked beside the warm oven, which glowed orange and made a gentle ticking sound as it cooled. But there was no golden button.

“Let’s ask Nana Moss,” said Juniper. “She notices everything.”

Further down the lane, there was an old brown boot. It was a big boot, laced up with string, and it had a little door in the toe. Above the door was a sign that said Library.

Nana Moss the badger lived there with all her books. When Pip and Juniper and Fen knocked on the door, she opened it with a creak and a smile. She was wearing her soft stripy sweater and her reading glasses were on the end of her nose.

“Well now,” she said. “Three visitors at bedtime. What can I do for you, my dears?”

Pip told her about the golden button.

Nana Moss nodded slowly. “Buttons like to roll,” she said. “And this lane slopes, ever so gently, down towards the pond. If I were a button, I think I’d roll that way.”

So Nana Moss wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, and the four friends walked down the lane together. Not quickly. There was no hurry. Their feet went pat, pat, pat on the pebbles.

The evening was getting deeper now. The peach-coloured sky had turned lavender. Little moths were dancing slowly in the air. And the grass at the edge of the lane was cool and damp, and it tickled their toes.

At the bottom of the lane, beside the pond, they found Grandpa Odo.

Grandpa Odo was a very old toad. He was the lamplighter of Thimblewick Lane. He had a long pole with a tiny flame at the end, and a stick to help him walk, and a gentle, croaky voice like a warm cello.

“Good evening, friends,” he said. “You’re out late.”

“We’re looking for a golden button,” said Pip.

Grandpa Odo smiled a slow, wide smile. “Ah,” he said. “Then I think you’d better come and see this.”

He pointed with his stick, down to the edge of the pond.

There, on a flat lily pad, was a little snail. The snail was fast asleep. And curled up beside the snail, shining in the last light of the day, was the golden button.

“Oh!” whispered Pip.

The snail had found the button and pulled it close, like a tiny golden pillow. And now he was sleeping beside it, with a very peaceful look on his face.

Pip looked at the button. Then she looked at the sleeping snail.

“He looks so cosy,” she said softly. “I don’t want to wake him.”

Nana Moss put a paw on Pip’s shoulder. “That’s a kind thought,” she said.

Pip thought for a moment. Then she smiled.

“He can borrow it,” she said. “Just for tonight. I’ll come back for it in the morning. And maybe I’ll bring him a button of his very own.”

Fen signed, That is kind. And Juniper gave a happy little hop.

Grandpa Odo chuckled. “Then everything is just as it should be,” he said. “And now, I think, it is time to light the lamps.”

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