TheMoonstoneChristmas Tales

Snow had wrapped Moonstone in silver when Sam followed the lanterns to Santa’s Log House. The windows glowed like honey, and the old front door seemed to be waiting just for Sam.

Inside, the fire crackled and the Christmas tree sparkled. “Welcome, Sam,” said Mrs. Claus. Santa smiled too—but tucked inside his smile was one small, worried wrinkle.

Santa opened his mittened hands. Resting on his palms was a tiny golden bell.

“This bell has sung for nearly two hundred Christmases,” he said. “But tonight, it has forgotten how to ring.”

Santa gave the bell a careful shake.

Not a jingle. Not a tinkle. Not even the tiniest ting.

Sam leaned closer and listened with all their might.

“What makes it ring?” Sam asked.

Mrs. Claus touched a hand to her heart. “Christmas kindness, freely given. The sort that expects nothing in return.”

Just then, Sam heard a sniff beneath the grandfather clock.

Then a squeak.

A tiny mouse in a red scarf peeped around the corner. “I’m Pip,” he whispered, “and I need help.”

Pip’s family had fallen asleep in a basket of Christmas decorations. The elves had moved the basket—and now Pip could not find them anywhere.

“We’ll find them,” Sam promised.

Sam travelled home beneath the moon, the golden bell tucked safely in one mitten.

With every step came a faint, happy jingle—and all through the snowy woods, Moonstone remembered.