The wind had been busy all night, and by morning it had blown the straw scarecrow's hat clean off and into the far corner of the garden. When Kai came out in his wellies, the scarecrow stood in the bean rows looking rather bare and rather sorry.
"Oh," said Kai, going quiet. "You've lost your hat."
The scarecrow didn't answer, of course. But its stitched face seemed to droop, and one arm hung low, and the wind gave a small cold whistle through the beans. It looked, Kai thought, like the way you feel when something you were looking forward to doesn't happen.
Kai had felt exactly that this very morning. Grandpa had promised a trip to the pond to sail the little wooden boat. But the rain had come, and the trip had been folded up and put away for another day. Kai had stood very still by the window for a long while, hands in tight fists, watching the puddles fill.
"Never mind," Kai told the scarecrow now. "I'll find your hat."
The hat had tumbled under the hedge, wet and floppy and full of leaves. Kai shook it out and carried it back, holding it high like something important. It was too soggy to sit up straight, so Kai fetched the little watering can and popped the hat on top of that to dry.
"There," Kai said. "You'll be all right."
The scarecrow looked a bit better already. But its arm still hung low, so Kai tucked a fat dandelion into its sleeve, the way you might give someone a small gift when they're feeling flat.
"That's for you," Kai whispered.
Grandpa came out under a big umbrella, wellies squelching, and stood beside Kai in the drizzle. "Well now," he said softly. "Look at that. You cheered him right up."
Kai looked at the scarecrow, straw drying in the thin light, dandelion bright against the grey. And somewhere in the cheering-up, his own flat feeling had loosened, like a knot coming undone.
"The pond's still there," Grandpa said. "Waiting. And puddles are quite good for boats too, you know."
So they sailed the little wooden boat in the biggest puddle by the gate, round and round, while the rain softened to almost nothing and the scarecrow watched from the bean rows with its hat drying and its dandelion held high.
By the time the boat had made its last voyage, Kai's hands were pink and cold and happy. Grandpa hung up the wet coats indoors, and there was warm milk, and a biscuit each, and the window steaming up in a friendly sort of way.
That night Kai lay listening to the last of the rain patter softly on the glass. Out in the dark garden the scarecrow stood dry and steady, dandelion tucked in its sleeve, keeping the beans company. And Kai, warm under the blankets, let his eyes drift slowly, slowly shut.