The Missing Button

On Patchwork Prairie, the button windmill usually turned with a cheerful flup-flup-flup. It shook the breakfast crumbs from the picnic blankets and sent a breeze along Ribbon Railway. But this morning it went flup-flup—FLOP. One enormous fabric blade sagged across the path.

Captain Bramble put down his leaf shield. The golden button that held the blade in place was missing. Beside the windmill lay a navy feather. ‘I think,’ said Bibi Pocket, ‘we had a very interested visitor.’

Across the narrow ribbon bridge stood Baron Button. His plum cape fluttered. His pouch clinked. ‘A splendid collection,’ he announced. ‘Safely looked after by somebody important. Me.’

‘That button has a job,’ Bramble called. ‘Please give it back.’ The baron shut his pouch. ‘And now its job is to look splendid.’

Bramble stepped onto the bridge. His knees wobbled. The ribbon was much higher above the little stream than he remembered. He stepped back again. Bibi waited beside him. She did not say that heroes ought to be brave.

‘I could use a paw,’ he said at last. Bibi took one. Together they crossed, one careful stitch of a step at a time.

The baron tried to fasten his bulging pouch, but the buttons inside pushed against one another. Its little tie snapped. Buttons rolled everywhere: down the path, into his shoes, beneath his cape. He flapped after them in a most unimportant muddle.

‘My collection!’ he cried. Bibi opened her only empty pocket. Bramble spread his leaf shield below the slope. Between them they caught every runaway button, including the windmill's golden one.

‘You could have kept it,’ the baron said, staring at the shield. ‘We could,’ Bramble agreed. ‘But it belongs where it helps.’ He held it out. ‘Will you put it back with us?’

The baron looked at his empty pouch. Then at the windmill, where the neighbours waited under their drooping picnic blanket. ‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘a button turning in the sunshine might look rather splendid too.’

Bibi found a long coral thread in the bottom of a very full pocket. Bramble steadied the blade. The baron returned the button and helped pull the thread through its holes. Three pairs of paws made one strong shared stitch.

Flup-flup-flup! The windmill lifted its head. The picnic blanket billowed. The baron returned the other borrowed buttons as well, although he described this as ‘rearranging the collection’.

At the picnic, Bramble's knees were still a little wobbly. Bibi sat beside him. ‘A useful empty pocket,’ he said. ‘A useful helping paw,’ she replied. Above them, the golden button did its very important job.