Princess Ada had a crown for ceremonies, boots for puddles, and very soft slippers for evenings.
Tonight she was wearing the slippers.
She had just closed her book when a small green light appeared outside her window. It moved past the roses, paused by the gate, and seemed to wait.
“A firefly,” Ada whispered.
She asked her father if they could take one little walk through the garden before bed.
“One little walk,” he agreed, bringing their coats.
At the gate, the firefly glimmered again.
The garden was different at night. During the day, the flowers stood open like cheerful umbrellas. Now some of them were folding their petals close.
“Are they sleepy?” Ada asked.
“Some flowers close in the evening,” said her father. “Let’s see what else we can notice.”
They followed the light along a path of smooth stones. A robin was tucked into a bush. Near the fountain, a snail rested under the edge of a leaf.
Ada bent down carefully.
“Good night, little snail.”
The firefly moved toward the oldest tree. Its roots made a small doorway in the soil, and beside the doorway lay an acorn with a tiny split down its side.
Ada remembered the gardener saying that a new tree might grow there one day.
“It has a very small bed,” she said.
Her father crouched beside her. “Small things can have big beginnings.”
Ada found a fallen leaf nearby. She placed it beside the acorn without covering its little doorway.
“There,” she whispered. “A little company.”
The firefly shone once more. For a moment, its light touched the acorn, the tree, Ada’s slippers, and her father’s hand.
Then the firefly lifted into the dark branches.
“Do you think it wanted to show us the garden?” Ada asked.
“Maybe it was simply finding its own way,” said her father. “And we found something lovely along ours.”
They walked back past the fountain and the folded flowers. Ada moved quietly so her slippers wouldn’t disturb the snail.
At her window, she looked out one last time.
The garden held all its small sleeping places. A bush. A leaf. A little doorway under an old tree.
Ada climbed into her own bed.
She did not need her crown or her puddle boots tonight. Her soft slippers were beside her, her book was closed, and her father was there to say good night.
Far away in the garden, a green light glimmered once.
