The sun was warm on Pipo's back as he walked home from school. He reached for his yellow backpack — and his hand closed on empty air.
He spun around. Nothing. He checked behind the mailbox, the fire hydrant, the big oak tree — nothing. The yellow backpack was gone.
Pipo ran back toward the park, scanning the swings, the slide, the sandbox. 'Yellow backpack!' he called. A pigeon fluttered off with a crumpled wrapper, but not his bag.
Under the bench at the bus stop. Inside the recycling bin. Behind the bakery door. Nothing. He sat on the sidewalk and pulled one scuffed shoe off, staring at the empty space.
A soft tap on his shoulder. Mrs. Gable stood there, holding his yellow backpack by the strap. 'You helped me carry my groceries last week,' she said. 'I thought you might need this back.'
Pipo grabbed the backpack and pressed it to his chest. 'Thank you!' he blurted — so loud the pigeon from the park landed on the fence to listen.
Pipo walked the rest of the way home with his yellow backpack slung over one shoulder, bumping it gently against his leg with each step. He opened the front door and called, 'I found it!'
He paused to check his pockets — and there, tucked inside, was a homemade cookie with a sticky note. On it, in crayon: Mrs. Gable's address.