The fridge was not the interesting part.
The new fridge came on a Tuesday. Two men carried it in, plugged it in and drove away. Mum looked at the fridge. Mama looked at the fridge. Hattie and Gus looked at the box.
Mum cut a door. Mama cut a window. Now it was a house. Hattie and Gus ate lunch in it. They read in it. Gus fell asleep in it by accident and had to be carried to bed, house and all.
On Saturday it rained, and Gus leaned on the wall of the house, and the house fell over. Now it was lying down. “It’s a boat,” said Hattie. It was still a good box.
The boat crashed into the sofa. (“Whale,” said Gus.) One whole side came off. Gus stood what was left on its end. “Rocket,” he said. “Ten, nine, eight…” They got to four before the top fell in. It was still a good box.
Mama came in with the washing and didn’t see the rocket, and stepped right on it. Now it was flat. “Sorry,” said Mama. Hattie and Gus lay down on it. “Flying carpet,” said Hattie.
The flying carpet flew up and down the hall all week, until it tore right down the middle. Half each. Hattie’s half was a shield. Gus’s half was a hat. Then Gus wore his hat in the bath.
By the next Tuesday, there was one piece left. It was the size of a book. It had a bite out of one corner (nobody would say who). “It’s not a good box anymore,” said Gus. Hattie turned it over.
They got the crayons. They drew a door, and two faces, and a crown. Mum found them some string, and they hung it on their bedroom door. “What does it say?” said Mama. “It says knock first,” said Gus.
The doorbell rang. Two men were standing on the step with a brand new washing machine. Hattie and Gus looked at the box. The end.
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The fridge was not the interesting part.
The new fridge came on a Tuesday. Two men carried it in, plugged it in and drove away. Mum looked at the fridge. Mama looked at the fridge. Hattie and Gus looked at the box.
Mum cut a door. Mama cut a window. Now it was a house. Hattie and Gus ate lunch in it. They read in it. Gus fell asleep in it by accident and had to be carried to bed, house and all.
On Saturday it rained, and Gus leaned on the wall of the house, and the house fell over. Now it was lying down. “It’s a boat,” said Hattie. It was still a good box.
The boat crashed into the sofa. (“Whale,” said Gus.) One whole side came off. Gus stood what was left on its end. “Rocket,” he said. “Ten, nine, eight…” They got to four before the top fell in. It was still a good box.
Mama came in with the washing and didn’t see the rocket, and stepped right on it. Now it was flat. “Sorry,” said Mama. Hattie and Gus lay down on it. “Flying carpet,” said Hattie.
The flying carpet flew up and down the hall all week, until it tore right down the middle. Half each. Hattie’s half was a shield. Gus’s half was a hat. Then Gus wore his hat in the bath.
By the next Tuesday, there was one piece left. It was the size of a book. It had a bite out of one corner (nobody would say who). “It’s not a good box anymore,” said Gus. Hattie turned it over.
They got the crayons. They drew a door, and two faces, and a crown. Mum found them some string, and they hung it on their bedroom door. “What does it say?” said Mama. “It says knock first,” said Gus.
The doorbell rang. Two men were standing on the step with a brand new washing machine. Hattie and Gus looked at the box. The end.