Pip hurried along the barn path with his straw hat flopping over one ear and his little feet tapping fast on the damp boards. He was going to help with the morning work today, and that meant he would not be “the little one” for once. He could carry something. He could fetch something. He could be useful.
Then he stopped so hard his toes nearly bumped the plank edge.
A thick patch of wildflowers had sprung up right in the middle of the walkway overnight. They were sweet-smelling and tall, with bright petals all tangled together like a soft wall. Bees buzzed in and out of the blossoms, busy as tiny hammers. On one side of the path, Mina’s milk pail was waiting to go through. Near it sat the wagon with its wide wheels. And from the barn side came the soft clop of small hooves that needed the same path, too.
Pip looked from the flowers to the pail, then to the wagon, then toward the barn where everyone was expecting morning work to start. If he wanted to help on time, he had to do something now. But the flowers were in the way, the bees were in the middle, and the path did not look simple anymore. He drew in a careful breath and stood very still, wondering whether to pull at the flowers, go around them, or find another way to keep the traffic moving.
What happens next?
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