In the village lane, Milo heard a whisper. An old silver bell in the orchard could grant one wish.
Milo dashed out at dusk before anyone else could get there.
The grass brushed his ankles. Above him, the sky turned purple, and the first moonlight spilled between the trees.
Then Milo saw glittering specks on the ground. He followed them past crooked trunks and over bumpy roots.
The clues kept going under branches that shook silver in the dark. Milo hurried faster and faster.
“Whoa!” he whispered, ducking hard when an owl hooted right above his head.
After a moment, Milo looked again. More sparkles clung to a fence post, then a bucket, then a coat button hanging from a low branch.
It was like a shiny game of follow-the-trail. Milo slowed down and squinted at the last clue.
Then a worried voice called, “My bell! Has anyone seen my silver bell?”
A night watchman stood there with an orange lantern glowing in the dark.
Milo hurried to the tallest tree. He parted the leaves and found the silver bell tangled in a fork of branches.
Ting! The bell gave a tiny clear sound when Milo lifted it free.
Milo froze. He could hide it and make a wish . . . or carry it down to the watchman waiting below.
He climbed down.
Milo walked straight to the night watchman and put the silver bell into his hand.
The lantern light shone on the bell. “Thank you, Milo,” said the watchman. “I can trust you to help me watch the orchard.”
