Rafa and the Wobbly Sorry

"Hmmm," went the sky. Low and long and soft, like a bee humming in a jam jar. Rafa sat up so fast that one ear went flop over his eye. He was a small rabbit with fur the color of warm toast, and that ear always flopped when he hurried.

"There it is again," he whispered. Out in the dark, a comet drifted past, slow as a spoon through honey, leaving a thin silver trail. "That's the comet," said Grandpa Otis. "It hums while it travels. Some nights it sings the whole way round."

Grandpa Otis was a big rabbit with grey whiskers and a warm, rumbly voice, like a wheelbarrow on a path. He sat on the hill above the burrow with a pile of smooth stones beside him. One by one, he stacked them up.

Rafa tried to hum too. "Hmmm," he hummed, and his hum came out small and bumpy, like a hiccup. Grandpa Otis chuckled. "Keep trying, little one. It's a slow song."

Mama put her head out of the burrow door. She was hanging the washing on the line, and a white sheet lifted and breathed in the breeze. It smelled of cold clean air and clean sheets. "Supper soon," she called. "Both of you."

"Race you, Grandpa!" said Rafa. But Grandpa Otis patted his stone stack. "First my stones," he said. "This one on top is the star stone." He held up a small white pebble, round as a moon, and set it on the very top.

Rafa looked too. The stack had six grey stones and one white one, and it stood as tall as Grandpa's soup bowl.

"Now then," said Grandpa Otis. "I'll fetch the soup pot in from the step." And he went hopping down to the burrow door, humming his comet hum.

Rafa had a race all by himself. He ran up the hill, fast as a dandelion seed in the wind, and his floppy ear went flap, flap, flap. He was in such a hurry that he didn't look where his paws were going.

Bump. His elbow caught the stone stack. The stones went tumbledy-down, tumbling and rolling, and the white star stone bounced into the long grass and hid itself.

"Oh," said Rafa, very quietly. His nose twitched. His tummy felt strange, like a jelly on a bumpy cart. Rafa felt wobbly inside, right under his ribs where the worries live.

He looked at the burrow door. Grandpa Otis was inside. Nobody had seen. Rafa's ears went down. "I'll fix it," he said. "I'll fix it and then nobody minds."

He tried to stack the stones the way Grandpa had. Grey stone on grey stone, careful, careful. But the third stone slid off and rolled under the bush. Rafa put it back, and it slid off again. The stack leaned like a tired tower.

And above the hill, the comet hummed: hmmm, hmmm, hmmm.

"It's not right," said Rafa. He pushed the stones into the grass to hide them. But hiding them didn't help. The wobbly feeling was still there, right under his ribs.

Then Rafa had an idea. In his pocket was a smooth blue pebble he'd found by the stream. It was his favorite thing all week. He ran to the burrow door and gave it to Grandpa Otis.

"For me?" said Grandpa Otis. "A blue stone with a white line in it. Thank you, Rafa." He put it in his waistcoat pocket and gave Rafa a squeeze.

Rafa waited. Surely the wobbly feeling would fly off now. But it didn't. It sat there like a stone in his shoe. "Is something the matter?" asked Grandpa Otis. "You're rather quiet."

"Nope," said Rafa, in a squeaky voice. "Nothing's the matter." His ear drooped down over his eye. Grandpa Otis looked at him for a long, kind moment.

Rafa went back up the hill. He stood by the flattened grass where the stone stack had been. "Grandpa, I want to say something," he began. But the words felt big and heavy, like pulling a boot out of mud.

"Grandpa, I," he tried again. Only a squeak came out. "Ssss." Like a door with a sore hinge. Above the hill, the comet hummed: hmmm, hmmm, hmmm.

Grandpa Otis came back up the hill. He didn't say anything cross. He just sat down in the cool grass beside Rafa and patted the ground. Then he looked at the flat place where his stones had stood.

"Something happened to my stone stack," said Grandpa Otis, gently.

Rafa's eyes went hot and wobbly. "I knocked it over," he said, all in a rush. "I was running fast and my ear went flap and I didn't look. The star stone rolled away. I'm sorry, Grandpa. I'm sorry."

"Ah," said Grandpa Otis. "Thank you for telling me." He put his paw on Rafa's back and kept it there, warm and steady. "That was a good sorry. You said what happened, and you said it to me."

"Are you cross with me?" whispered Rafa.

"I was sad about my stack," said Grandpa Otis. "Then you told me, and my sad feeling went smaller. Now I forgive you, and that means the cross feeling flies off over the hill and doesn't come back. I'm not cross. I'm glad I've got you."

Rafa breathed out a big breath, and the wobbly feeling went out with it. It was like putting down a heavy bag. "Do you want to build a new stack?" he asked. "A better one. With me?"

So they built it together. Rafa found the grey stones in the grass, and Grandpa Otis stacked them, and Rafa pushed the bottom one flat with his paw. "Now we need a top stone," said Grandpa Otis.

Rafa remembered. He crawled into the long grass, nose down, sniffing. There, among the clover, sat the white star stone, cool as a mint leaf. He carried it back and set it on the top, all by himself.

"Wobble it," said Grandpa Otis. Rafa wobbled it with one paw. It didn't fall. It stood up straight and white against the dark, like a little moon on a hill.

"Hmmm," went the comet, sliding by. Rafa hummed back. "Hmmm." This time it came out long and smooth, and it kept on going.

Mama called them in, and they went in together. The kitchen smelled of warm soup and clean sheets. Rafa's ear had stopped drooping. Grandpa Otis took the blue stone out of his pocket and set it on the windowsill beside the soup bowls.

"For keeping," he said. "For the evening you found your sorry."

Rafa climbed into bed. Grandpa Otis smoothed his floppy ear down and hummed, low and long. Out in the dark, the comet hummed back. And the burrow grew quiet, and the stars went on glittering, slow and small and silver, all night long.