The Story of Helly part 7/7

The Story of Helly part 7/7

The old man closed his eyes and said  loudly:  “Let Helly be young and beautiful just as she was the  first day she came here.”

Helly  looked  and saw  that everything  was as before,  as though she had just stepped into the garden. And  there, coming  out of the distant flowers, was her mother  running toward  her. Helly  ran to meet her. They hugged each other, crying with happiness  and laughing with  joy.

Helly said: “Mother, Mother,  please don’t send me away from home any more. I don’t want a garden  full of  flowers. I don’t want parrots and nightingales.  I don’t want  to be painted,  nor  to be hit ‘ding, dang, dong.’ Please  take me home.  . . .”

Helly’s mother was shaking Helly and saying:  “Helly, Helly, wake up. It’s morning  and  the sun  is shining. You’ve  had quite enough sleep.”

Helly looked around  and asked: “Mother, where am I?”

Her mother answered: “You’re in bed, at home. Where else do you think you would be?”

Helly  sighed with relief. She  laughed  and  jumped  out of bed, She washed her face, dressed, ate breakfast,  and  ran  to school. She didn’t even  remember  the old man who was still asleep  in the guest room, and she’d never have  to see him again.

In the lane  she bowed  to the  ticket  seller and said: “Sir, please give me a ticket.” The  ticket  seller  laughed and said: “What makes you so polite today, Helly?”

Helly answered:  “Because  I’m a perfect  little girl. That’s the way I am and as  long as I live I won’t change.”

Is it one or two years  that have  passed since Helly had her dream? She has gotten  older, more helpful around  the house, and kinder  than ever before. Well, sometimes when she waters the flowers she spills water on herself, but she never splashes  it on other people.

Oh, and by  the way, I forgot  to say  that  the dog Hoffy no  longer  limps: nobody  throws stones  at him any more and he can now sleep away  the  long hot summer afternoons.

The End

Related Stories

No comments:

Post a Comment