The kitchen was sunny and warm. A blue-and-white flower vase sat on the windowsill.
Pip hopped too close to the windowsill. His ear bumped the vase — CRASH!
Pip froze. 'It was Mr. Thistle the hedgehog!' he called. 'He was bouncing his ball again!'
Pip tried to sweep the pieces. But his fluffy tail knocked them wider.
Every time someone's name came up, he hid behind the flour bin. The lie felt heavier each hour.
By sunset, he could barely finish his thimble of milk. 'I don't want dinner,' he thought.
His mom stood in the doorway. 'Pip,' she said gently, 'was Mr. Thistle here today?'
Pip opened his mouth. No sound came out. A wilted petal curled into his lap.
Pip took a breath. 'I knocked it over. I was jumping and I hit it.'
His mom knelt and pulled him into a hug. Her fur was soft against his cheek.
Together they swept the pieces into the dustpan.
That night, a small sprout from the broken pot sat back on the windowsill.