The Doorbell at the Bottom of the Garden

Tula hung a little brass bell by the garden gate.

She tied a blue ribbon beneath it.

Now visitors could announce themselves.

She went to arrange the chairs.

The bell rang.

Tula hurried down the path.

The gate was shut. The lane was empty.

She peered through the slats.

Nobody peered back.

A snail was crossing the path.

'Was that you?'

The snail continued with its crossing.

It was a long way from the bell, and in no hurry to explain.

Tula went back to the chairs.

Ding.

This time she came quietly.

A leaf trembled beside the gate.

The lane was still empty.

She sat behind a large flowerpot.

Not hidden very well. Her ears showed.

She waited through a bee, two sparrows and one itchy nose.

The bell stayed quiet.

The hollyhocks bent.

A stem brushed the blue ribbon.

The ribbon tugged the bell.

Ding.

Tula stood up before the sound had finished.

She held the stem away.

The breeze came again.

Leaves rustled. The ribbon fluttered freely.

The bell did not ring.

'Oh,' said Tula. 'You.'

Tula moved the bell to the other side of the post.

Its ribbon hung clear of the flowers.

She pulled it once.

The sound was exactly the same, but this time she knew who had made it.

She returned to her chairs.

One chair for Tula. One for somebody else.

The garden was pleasant, but rather quiet.

She took the second chair nearer the first.

Pip's ears appeared above the low garden wall.

'What are you doing?'

'Waiting for a visitor,' said Tula.

'I can do that part,' said Pip.

Pip went around to the gate.

He pulled the blue ribbon.

Ding.

Tula came down the path at a perfectly ordinary speed.

She was smiling before she opened it.

They sat in the two chairs.

The breeze moved through the hollyhocks.

This time the flowers only rustled.

Pip began a story about a snail.

Tula listened carefully.