The little dragon squeezed through the garden fence and tugged the vine.
The prize pumpkin came right up with a wet rip. The little dragon dropped it into the hole and patted the dirt.
It rolled two inches. The little dragon tried again with both hands, but it stayed crooked.
The little dragon took a deep breath and blew — whoosh! A tiny burst of fire shot out. The prize pumpkin flew like a cork!
The little dragon froze. Its tiny claw hovered over the empty hole. It thought, Oh no.
Old Barnaby the tortoise appeared at the gate. His shell clicked against the stones. The little dragon turned bright red.
'Want to help me replant these?' Barnaby tapped his stick. The little dragon nodded so fast its horns rattled.
Days passed. The little dragon watered, dug, and weeded beside Barnaby.
The little dragon watered and dug beside Barnaby all week long.
The prize pumpkins grew big and orange in the sun.
Barnaby offered the little dragon the first pumpkin. It was warm from the vine and heavy in its tiny arms.
The little dragon held the pumpkin tight. It thought, This is the best pumpkin ever.