A Story for Wisp

Hello, and welcome back to Thimblewick Lane. Snuggle down under your blanket. Rest your head on your pillow, and let your hands lie still. Tonight’s story is called A Story for Wisp.

At the very bottom of a big green garden, under the biggest leaf of an old, tall plant, there is a little lane made of smooth, flat pebbles. Grey and white and pale pink. Along each side are tiny shops, no bigger than teapots, with round windows and little doors.

This is Thimblewick Lane.

It was the end of the day. The sky above the big leaf was the colour of peaches, and the air smelled of warm grass and a little bit of rain from far away.

In the old brown boot at the middle of the lane, Nana Moss the badger was getting her library ready for the night.

She walked slowly along her shelves, and she touched each book with one soft paw. Some books were so old that their pages were the colour of honey.

“There you are,” she whispered to each one. “Rest now.”

Then she lit the small candle on her desk and sat down in her squashy chair.

That was when she saw it.

Something small and pale was resting on the windowsill, just outside the glass. It had soft, dusty wings, the colour of milk with a drop of tea in it. It was a moth. A very young moth. And she was looking in at the books with big, round, shining eyes.

Nana Moss smiled. She got up, slowly, and opened the little round window.

“Good evening,” she said gently. “Would you like to come in?”

The moth flinched a tiny bit. Then she fluttered in, very carefully, and landed on the corner of the desk, near the warm candle.

“My name is Wisp,” said the moth, in a voice like a feather. “I saw the light. And I saw all the books. I have never been inside a library before.”

“Then you are very welcome,” said Nana Moss. “Is there a book you would like?”

Wisp looked down at her small feet. “I would like one very much,” she said. “But… I can’t read yet. I’m still learning my letters. I only know three of them.”

Nana Moss nodded, as if that was the most ordinary thing in the world. Because it is.

“Lots of friends on this lane couldn’t read once,” she said. “Everybody starts somewhere. And do you know what? You don’t need to read a story to enjoy one. Sometimes, someone reads it to you.”

Wisp’s wings gave a hopeful little flutter.

Just then, the door of the boot went creak, and in came Pip Hazel the hedgehog, from the button shop. Behind her came Juniper and Fen, the two wren bakers, with flour still on their feathers.

“Good evening, Nana Moss,” said Pip. “We came to return our books.” Then she saw Wisp, and her eyes went wide and kind. “Oh! Hello. I’m Pip.”

“This is Wisp,” said Nana Moss. “She is new to the lane, and she would like a story.”

“A story!” said Juniper. Fen nodded, and he signed something with his wings, slowly, so Wisp could watch. He touched his chest, and then he opened his wings wide like a book.

“Fen is deaf,” Juniper explained. “He talks with his wings. That sign means, I love stories.“

Wisp watched very closely. Then she lifted her own two pale wings, and opened them, just like a book.

Fen gave a happy little hop. Yes! he signed. You’ve got it!

“I know a sign now,” whispered Wisp. “As well as three letters.”

So the friends let Wisp choose a book. She flew along the lowest shelf, slowly, looking at all the pictures on the covers. And she stopped beside a small blue book with a moon on the front.

“This one,” she said. “The moon looks friendly.”

Nana Moss lifted it down. It was called The Moon Who Hummed.

They all settled down on the soft rug. Juniper and Fen nestled together in a basket of wool. And Wisp rested on the arm of Nana Moss’s chair, right next to the page, where she could see the pictures.

Nana Moss began to read.

She read slowly, in her low, soft voice. The story was about a round, silver moon who hummed a quiet tune every night, so that everyone below would know she was there, keeping watch.

While Nana Moss read, Juniper turned the story into signs for Fen, with small, gentle movements of her wings. Sometimes Fen signed back, What happens next? And Nana Moss smiled and read on.

Wisp looked at the words on the page. They were little black marks, like tiny footprints. She did not know most of them. But then, at the bottom of one page, she saw a round shape she knew.

“That’s an O!” she said. “That’s one of my three letters!”

“So it is,” said Nana Moss. “It’s the O in moon. Two of them, side by side, like two round eyes.”

Outside, the evening was getting deeper. The peach-coloured sky had turned to lavender. A cricket began to sing, very softly. And the candle on the desk made a small, warm circle of light.

At the very end of the book, the moon hummed her quiet tune, and everyone in the story fell asleep.

Nana Moss closed the book gently. There was a soft little hush in the library.

“Thank you,” said Wisp. “That was the nicest thing that ever happened to me.”

“You can borrow it, if you like,” said Nana Moss. “Bring it back whenever you’re ready. And come again tomorrow. We’ll find you a new letter, and maybe a new sign too.”

Wisp held the little blue book in her arms. It was nearly as big as she was.

Then, from far down the lane, came the slow tap, tap, tap of a walking stick on the pebbles. It was Grandpa Odo the toad, the lamplighter, with his long pole and its tiny flame. And riding on the brim of his hat, very slowly, was Dewdrop the snail, holding on tight.

“Good evening, friends,” said Grandpa Odo, in his warm, croaky voice. “I see we have someone new.”

“This is Wisp,” said Pip. “She loves stories. And the moon.”

Dewdrop looked at Wisp with his little eyes on their stalks.

“Hello… Wisp,” he said, very slowly. “Welcome… to… the… lane.”

Grandpa Odo smiled his slow, wide smile. “Moths love light,” he said. “So you have come to the right place. Would you like to help me light the lamps tonight, Wisp?”

Wisp’s wings trembled with happiness. “Yes, please,” she said.

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