At the bottom of the valley, where the tracks curled like a ribbon, lived a small blue train called Little Engine.
All day long, Little Engine carried things. Milk churns to the village. Apples to the market. A wobbly tower of hay bales to Farmer Bell, who always waved with both arms.
Chuff-chuff. Chuff-chuff. That was the sound of Little Engine working.
But tonight, as the sky turned the color of peaches, the Stationmaster came out with one last parcel. It was small, and soft, and wrapped in brown paper.
“One more delivery, Little Engine,” he said. “All the way to the last house on the hill. Can you make it before bedtime?”
“Chuff!” said Little Engine, which meant yes.
Off she went, into the blue evening. Chuff-chuff. Chuff-chuff.
She passed the sheep field, and the sheep were already lying down, folded up like woolly cushions. “Goodnight, sheep,” whistled Little Engine, very softly, so as not to wake them.
She passed the river, and the ducks had their heads tucked under their wings, floating in a sleepy row. “Goodnight, ducks.”
She passed the windmill, whose great arms had stopped turning for the night. “Goodnight, windmill.”
Up the hill she climbed, slower now. Chuff… chuff… chuff… The hill was steep, and the parcel was precious, and Little Engine was getting tired.
But at the very top stood the last house, with one warm yellow window still glowing.
A little girl in pajamas opened the door. “You came!” she said.
She unwrapped the brown paper right there on the doorstep. Inside was a small grey rabbit, worn soft from being loved, with one ear that flopped the wrong way.
“I left him at Grandma’s,” the girl whispered. “I couldn’t sleep without him.”
She hugged the rabbit tight, and then — because some thank-yous need arms — she hugged Little Engine’s warm blue front too.
Little Engine rolled home down the hill, and the hill was easy now, the way home always is.
The Stationmaster tucked her into the engine shed. “Well done,” he said, and turned off the light.
And Little Engine’s wheels went slower… and slower… chuff… chuff… until they stopped altogether, and she dreamed of ribbons of track winding all the way to the moon.
Goodnight, sheep. Goodnight, ducks. Goodnight, windmill. Goodnight, Little Engine. And goodnight, you.
🌙 The End 🌙
Sweet dreams, little one.
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