Pippin spread a picnic in the green meadow.
Just as Pippin lifted the first sandwich, a tiny hungry traveler peeked from the grass.
Pippin broke off a piece and slid it over. “Here you go,” Pippin said softly.
The tiny traveler nibbled fast, then pointed down the village path and hurried away.
Pippin packed up and trotted toward the cozy village path.
But the sun dropped low. Shadows stretched long. Near the woods, Pippin took a wrong turn.
By a crooked fence, Pippin stopped and listened to the rustly leaves.
Then a little animal popped out from the path and scampered ahead as if saying, “This way!”
Pippin followed. Soon more little helpers appeared, one by one.
The smallest helper puffed up and squeaked like a bossy guide. Pippin let out a surprised laugh.
At the fork by the woods, Pippin could not see the cottage roof at all.
Then the helpers gathered close and led a bright, busy parade—rustle, chirp, hop, flutter.
Ahead, the cottage window suddenly glowed like a tiny lantern.
Pippin reached the cottage and looked back. The helpers had paused along the path.
Pippin set the last crumbs on a flat stone. “Thank you,” Pippin whispered.
Then Pippin went inside, safe and smiling, and the door clicked shut with a cozy snick.
