Kit and Moss Light the Snow Lanterns
At the bottom of a big snowy hill there was a village, and in the village lived a boy called Kit.
Kit was small. He had a red hat with a bobble on top, and mittens on a string so they would not get lost. And Kit had a very important job.
He was the lantern-lighter.
A winding path went all the way up the hill. Beside the path stood twelve lantern posts. When snow came down at night, the lanterns showed travelers the way home. Every evening somebody had to light them, and that somebody was Kit.
But the snow on the hill was deep. It came right up to Kit’s tummy. So Kit did not climb the hill. He rode on Moss.
Moss was a white bear as big as a haystack. She talked slowly, and she liked to say whatever Kit said, just after he said it. She wore a green knitted ear-warmer that Kit’s mom had made her. And more than anything in the world, Moss loved sliding down hills on her tummy.
When the sky turned blue and the first windows lit up, Kit counted out twelve matches. He tucked them into Moss’s ear-warmer, just behind her left ear, where they would stay warm and dry.
“One match for every lantern,” said Kit.
“One match for every lantern,” said Moss.
Moss lay down in the snow. Kit climbed up her side and sat between her shoulders, where the fur was thickest.
“Ready, Moss,” said Kit.
“Ready,” said Moss.
Up they went. Crump, crump, went Moss’s big paws. Crump, crump, crump.
The first lantern stood at the bottom of the path. Kit reached behind Moss’s left ear and took out one match. He struck it. Fsst! He opened the little glass door, lit the wick, and shut the door again. The lantern glowed as yellow as butter.
“Up one more, Moss,” said Kit.
“Up one more,” said Moss.
Crump, crump. At the second lantern Kit took out another match. Fsst! Now there were two lights on the hill.
“Up one more, Moss,” said Kit.
“Up one more,” said Moss.
By the third lantern, Kit’s fingers were cold, even inside his mittens. Moss turned her big white head and blew on them. Her breath was as warm as toast.
“Thank you, Moss,” said Kit.
“Thank you, Moss,” said Moss.
Kit laughed so much his bobble wobbled. “No, silly,” he said. “You say you’re welcome.”
“You’re welcome,” said Moss, and she looked very pleased with herself.
They lit the fourth lantern by the old stone wall. They lit the fifth by the frozen stream, and the sixth where the path curled around a big rock. Each time, Kit said, “Up one more, Moss.” And each time, Moss said, “Up one more.”
At the seventh lantern, Kit looked back. There were his lights, one below another, winding all the way down to the village. Kit sat up as straight as he could.
Eight. Nine. Ten. The path got steeper, but Moss did not hurry. Crump, crump.
At the eleventh lantern, Kit felt in the ear-warmer. Only one match left.
“Up one more, Moss,” said Kit.
“Up one more,” said Moss.
And then they were at the top of the hill.
Kit struck the last match. Fsst! The twelfth lantern glowed. The ear-warmer was empty, and every lantern on the hill was lit.
From up here Kit could see the whole village. He could see every lit window in the village. One of them was his own. In it stood Mom, waving a dishcloth, as small as a flag on a cake.
Kit waved both mittens. Moss waved one big paw.
Then Moss lay down flat on her tummy, with her front paws stretched out. She looked back at Kit. Kit knew what that meant.
He lay down along her back and held on tight.
“Slide, Moss!” said Kit.
“SLIDE!” said Moss.
Whoooosh!
Down they went, as smooth as a sled. Kit counted the lanterns as they whizzed by. “Twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two!” Kit’s bobble bounced all the way down, and so did Moss’s ear-warmer.
At the bottom, Moss slowed, and slowed, and stopped right beside the first lantern, by Kit’s own front gate.
“One,” said Kit, out of breath.
“One,” said Moss.
Mom was waiting at the door with the dishcloth over her shoulder.
“I saw you wave,” said Mom. She brushed the snow off Kit’s hat. Then she set a big bowl of warm porridge on the step for Moss, with honey on top. Moss ate it all up, slowly, and licked the bowl clean.
Then Moss curled up on the doorstep, round as a snowdrift, and tucked her nose under her paw.
Kit patted her ear-warmer. “Goodnight, Moss,” said Kit.
Moss opened one eye. “Goodnight, Kit,” said Moss.
Kit smiled all the way up the stairs. Moss had got it right.
Mom tucked him into bed and left the curtain open a crack. From his pillow, Kit could see the hill. All twelve lanterns shone up it, one above another, like a necklace of little lights on the snow.
Kit had lit every one.
He counted them, slowly. “One. Two. Three.” His eyes were getting heavy. “Up one more,” he said, very softly.
Kit got all the way to twelve. Then he closed his eyes, and the lantern-lighter fell fast asleep, with Moss snoring on the doorstep and all his lanterns shining up the hill.