The Story Shell: A Tale of Friendship Bog by Gloria Repp, Tim Davis Page A

inside.”
    She paused beside a rack of crisp brown cookies. “Here, try these. You’ll like the pill-bugs. Take some for your backpack if you want.”
    Yes, indeed! Pibbin took one bite after another. Crunchy!
    He put three of them into his pack and started down the stairs.
    A shriek came from outside.
    “Oh, no! The story shell!”

 

     

Chapter 2
Tell-Tale Sand
     
    Skitter stood on Gaffer’s deck.
    Her eyes were wide. Her back was arched. Her tail twitched. She looked as if she would start crying at any minute.
    Pibbin didn’t bother with questions. The shell should have been here, but it wasn’t.
    He hopped toward the ferns at the base of Gaffer’s tree and looked into the hollow spot behind them.
    Empty.
    He frowned. Everyone knew about Story Night. How many of them knew about the shell’s hiding place?
    Story Night happened each month, on a night when the moon was full. Friends would help Gaffer pull the shell out onto the deck, and he’d sit down next to it. After a few minutes, he’d begin one of his famous stories.
    Pibbin turned back to the deck. Skitter was watching him. She twisted the cloth in her hands round and round.
    “You said you polished it this morning?” Pibbin asked.
    “Yes. I wanted it to be nice and clean for the party.”
    Pibbin studied the deck. It was a wide, flat stone, big enough for a gathering of frogs or other small animals. Gaffer liked to say that it was a very old stone.
    Sometimes the deck had footprints on it from friends who came to visit, but Skitter had scrubbed it clean.
    “Oh, no!” Skitter stepped to the front of the deck. “More sand!”
    Pibbin hopped over to see.
    This was more than a sprinkle of sand.
    Something deep inside him began to worry. Had someone . . . ?
     

     
    Skitter swished her cloth through the sand. “Now I’ll have to sweep the deck again before tonight. Sand! It gets everywhere! I just can’t keep up with it.”
    Pibbin looked at the ground under the trees. Pine needles and sand. And more sand.
    He hopped off the deck. What about these tracks in the sand? They weren’t very clear, but they were sure big. Bigger than Skitter’s tracks would be, and much bigger than frog tracks.
    He couldn’t find any tracks in the pine needles, but the ones in the sand seemed to be going toward the bog.
    He tried not to think about someone quite large who had stood on Gaffer’s deck. Had that someone stolen the shell?
    Do something!
    He hopped behind the tree and found more tracks coming through the woods.
    He listened to the peeper frogs who sang in the dangleberry bushes. If they had seen a thief, they weren’t saying.
     

     
    He shook his head. When Leeper got here, he’d know what to do.
    Skitter ran over to him. “I just thought of something. What about tonight?” Her face wrinkled. “Gaffer won’t be able to tell the story! Not if his story shell is gone.”
    Pibbin stared at her. Gaffer’s presents were nice, but his story would be even better. It would be long and exciting, the peepers said. And it would be true.
    Gaffer was going to tell about Friendship Bog, and everyone who built it, and how they had to fight to keep it safe.
    He glanced again at the tracks in the sand. The shell was important to Gaffer, and the story was important to everyone.
    Maybe . . .
    He took a deep breath. “Don’t you think someone should look for Gaffer’s shell?”
    “Oh, I hope so!” Skitter said. “That story was going to be his special gift to his friends.”
    Pibbin thought about Gaffer’s warm smile and his mighty deeds of kindness.
    Gaffer’s friends had plenty to say about the old treefrog.
    Need someone to listen when you’re lonely or scared? —Talk to Gaffer.
    Need someone to help when a fox digs up your home? —Talk to Gaffer.
    Need a bite to eat when it’s freezing cold and you’re hungry? —Talk to Gaffer.
    Didn’t he deserve to have a really happy birthday?
    “I wonder . . .” Pibbin said.
    “Go, go, go!” called the