The Gifts

Whit’s workshop was in the basement of Whit’s End. Whit worked on most of his inventions there.

The Imagination Station sat in the middle of the large room. The machine had a round front with dark glass and a door on each side. Patrick thought it looked like the front of a helicopter.

Whit touched a button on the side of the machine. The door facing them slid open. Patrick waited for Beth to climb in. Then he slid onto the seat next to her.

“Wait,” Whit said. He reached over to a worktable and picked up a small tin box. He handed it to Patrick.

Patrick held it up. It was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand.

“A tin of breath mints?” Beth asked.

Patrick suddenly smiled. “I know what this is! It’s a flint and tinderbox.”

“You’re right!” Whit said. He sounded impressed.

Patrick opened the box. Inside were a small flat rock, a little bar of steel, and a piece of charred cloth. “This is how they started fires before matches were invented,” he said to Beth.

Beth turned to Whit. “Do you have anything for me to take?” she asked.

Whit reached into his left pocket. He pulled out two acorns and handed them to Beth. “These will be used when someone’s in great danger,” he said. “You’ll need to take action quickly.”

Beth looked at the acorns. “He gets to start fires, and I get to . . . plant trees?” she asked.

Whit smiled at her. “You’ll see when the time comes,” he said.

The Imagination Station began to hum loudly. The lights on the dashboard in front of Patrick flashed.

“Just push the red button when you’re ready,” Whit said.

Beth nodded to Patrick. He pushed the red button.

As the door closed, Patrick heard Whit’s voice. It sounded as if he were far away.

“Beware of the druids!” Whit called out. “But look for the bishop. He’ll help you!”

“Druids?” Beth asked Patrick in the growing darkness.

Patrick didn’t have time to answer. The Imagination Station shook and rattled. It rumbled. It rocked back and forth.

Then everything went dark.