The Foal Who Set the Last Lantern

On a tall green hill lived a young foal called Fen.

Fen had long legs, and his legs were always in more of a hurry than the rest of him. Once they took him all the way to the pond, when all he meant to do was scratch his ear.

Every evening, Old Nan set the lanterns. Old Nan was a grey donkey with a basket of lanterns on each side. They went clink, clink, clink when Old Nan walked.

A path wound down and down the hill to the meadow where all the animals slept. At every bend there was a gatepost with a hook for a lantern.

The sun was going down, big and pink. Old Nan took out a jam jar. It was an old jar, and it still said Plum on the label.

Old Nan stood at the very top of the hill, where the sky came right down to touch the grass. Old Nan held the jar up high, and scooped.

Shloop.

The jar was full of sunset. It was pink, and it glowed. It was warm, and it smelled a little bit of plum.

“Everything I keep in this jar smells a little bit of plum,” said Old Nan.

Old Nan spooned some sunset into each lantern, and each lantern lit up pink. There was a spoonful left over.

“Why is there some left?” said Fen.

“I always catch a little extra,” said Old Nan. “You’ll see.”

The last lantern went by the meadow gate. Everybody walked under it on the way to bed.

“Old Nan,” said Fen, “can I set the last lantern? All by myself?”

“You may,” said Old Nan. “Practise on the way down.”

Off went Fen’s legs. Clippety-clop, down to the first bend, and the rest of Fen went with them.

Old Nan came along slowly behind, and stopped.

“Good evening, gatepost,” said Old Nan.

Fen giggled. “Why do you say good evening to a gatepost?”

“It stands here all night holding our lantern,” said Old Nan. “That’s worth a good evening.”

Fen took a lantern in his teeth and hung it on the hook, quick as quick. The lantern swung. It swung again. Then it swung right off the hook and landed in the grass.

Splosh.

The sunset spilled out in a puddle of pink.

Fen’s ears went flat. “Oh no,” said Fen.

But Old Nan was smiling. “Well, look at that,” said Old Nan.

So they looked. The puddle glowed in the grass, just the right size for a mouse to sleep on. All along the path there were little pink patches just like it.

“What are those?” said Fen.

“Those are from all the foals before you,” said Old Nan. “That big one by the stone was mine.”

“You spilled one?” said Fen.

“Three,” said Old Nan.

Fen laughed so hard he had to sit down.

Old Nan spooned the little extra into the lantern, and it lit up pink again.

“So that’s what the extra is for,” said Fen.

Old Nan hung the lantern on the hook, steady as steady.

At the second bend, Fen’s legs got there first again.

“Good evening, gatepost,” said Old Nan.

Fen hung the second lantern fast. This time it stayed on the hook. But it was crooked. It shone pink all over a big round rock, and not on the path at all.

It was the pinkest rock on the whole hill.

“That’s a lovely pink rock,” said Old Nan. “But the sheep will want to see the path.”

Old Nan gave the lantern a little push with a soft grey nose, and so did Fen. Slowly the lantern turned, until its light lay along the path like a ribbon.

After that, Fen just watched. At every bend, Old Nan did the same things, in the same order.

Stop. “Good evening, gatepost.” Look at the hook. Look at the path. Hang the lantern. Wait until it’s still.

Bend after bend. Lantern after lantern. Clink, clink.

Then there was one lantern left, and there was the meadow gate.

Fen’s legs wanted to trot.

“Wait,” said Fen to his legs.

And for once, his legs waited.

Fen walked slowly down to the gate. He stopped.

“Good evening, gatepost,” said Fen.

He looked at the hook. He looked at the path. He took the very last lantern in his teeth and hung it on the hook, gently. The lantern swung a tiny bit. Fen waited. The lantern went still.

Its pink light lay on the path, and on the gate, and on the soft meadow grass beyond.

“That,” said Old Nan, “is a very good lantern.”

Fen’s ears stood straight up.

Back up the hill, pink lanterns shone at every bend. Down the path came the sheep, and the cows, and the old brown goat, all the way home.

“Careful hooves make the way home for everyone,” said Old Nan.

Old Nan lay down in the grass and moved over, to leave the softest bit for Fen. Fen lay down, close to Old Nan’s warm grey side.

The sheep settled. The cows settled. The goat said one small, sleepy maa.

Fen’s legs were tired at last. They did not want to go anywhere at all.

By the gate, the last lantern glowed, straight and still. Its pink light lay across Fen’s nose, and it smelled, just a little, of plum.

“Good night, gatepost,” said Fen, very softly.

And Fen, who had set the last lantern all by himself, fell fast asleep.