Tom Thumb

Once upon a time, on a forested mountain top, there lived a couple of lumberjacks. They worked night and day to buy a small plot of land that no one else wanted. The people in the nearest city thought they were strange and never stopped by or invited them into town. “Mountain people are all a bit odd,” they’d say. “You never know what they are doing up there. It’s not normal to live with only trees for company.”

The couple were often blamed for things by the villagers for no good reason. When the maple syrup ran out, the villagers blamed the mountain couple. When the stream ran low, they blamed the mountain couple. They would stare at the couple when they made lumber deliveries to the mill with their homemade horse trailer.

So, the couple got by all on their own with very little. So little in fact that holes went unpatched in their house and, with no market-sellers stopping their way, they often went without fresh food. Though the two wished for a child, they never felt able to have one, for they could scarcely keep a roof over their own heads. But as they worked, unknown to them, some fairies called Forest Sprites scampered nearby. They heard the couple’s wishes and took it upon themselves to grant them.

One day, the couple returned home after a hard day’s work and were greeted with a staggering surprise. Their home had a shiny new roof and a fresh coat of paint. A new spring ran clear where an old well once stood, and a new wood stove resided at the heart of the cozy home.

That evening, the couple warmed themselves by the fire and admired their new home improvements. “This will last us well into our old age!” marveled the woman.

“The smallest changes make all the difference,” said the man as he stoked the fire.

“Nothing is too small to be meaningful,” said the woman, not knowing how true her words were.

The couple retired for the night, but were awoken in the wee hours by the sound of humming. They peered apprehensively through their bedroom key hole into the living room. There, leaning against the ottoman, stood a young man, not even tall enough to reach the top of the foot stool cushion.

The two nearly fell through the door with surprise.

“Can we help you?” the woman asked.

“Oh golly no,” said the small guest. “I am here to help you! I was sent by the Forest Sprites.”

The lumberjacks were overjoyed. They quickly made the young fellow feel welcome. “Do you have a name?” asked the man as he gathered a warm drink in an acorn cap for the young visitor.

“I do not, perhaps you’d like to give me one?”

“Shall we name you Tom after my father?” the woman asked.

Their new charge nodded happily.

“Why, you’re not much bigger than the thumb of a grizzly!” noted the man. “How about we call you Tom Thumb?” And the three sealed it with a hug.

As the years passed, Tom and his new family grew in closeness and comfort. Tom worked hard to learn every bit of the family trade. Even though he was an unusual size, he was skilled and thoughtful. He patiently took in his mother’s instructions for felling trees, pruning, and climbing, as well as his father’s techniques for measuring, coring, sampling, and tapping. After pondering a task, he would come up with a clever accommodation to allow him to perform just as a full-size person would.

When it came to riding horses, Tom made an amazing discovery. He set up a washboard at the horse’s flank, scaled his way to the horse’s mane, and pulled himself aboard. Instead of using reins, he hopped on to the horse’s head and spoke directly in its ear. Before his parents’ eyes the horse trotted around in a little parade.

“Now I can take wood to town!” he proclaimed proudly.

His parents weren’t sure. “You’ll need to be extra careful. People are not always welcoming to people who are different,” cautioned Tom’s mother.

But Tom was determined. The next morning off he went with a small load of lumber. As Tom neared the market, a patrolman barricaded him from entering the walls of the city. “Show yourself, rider!” he boomed.

“I’m just here,” piped Tom from behind the horse’s ear. The patrolman leaned in to inspect him.

“Why, you’re not much bigger than a thumb. Up to no good, I presume?”

“I’m off to the mill to deliver this load of lumber,” Tom protested.

“Hmmm,” muttered the patrolman. “Well, be on your way, but I’ve got my eye on you.”

Inside the walls, Tom found the city was bursting with fun. There were musicians and performers, a puppet stage and food vendors. Animals roamed free, food was for sale, and there was even a table with games.

As Tom went about his business, on the outskirts of the city lurked a dangerous element. A band of robbers had beset the place. Dressed in fancy costumes with knee-high socks they combed the crowd; picking coins from pockets and helping themselves to snacks from unattended market stalls.

The leader of the group spotted a shiny collection of coins at the bottom of a cellar beside the old mill. “Psst!” one robber said to another. “This must be the city treasury!” The robbers tried their best to remove the iron grate that covered the opening to the cellar, but it was impossible.

As Tom went to collect his horse to return home, he noticed them peering into the cellar. “Can I help you with something?” he asked.

The robbers turned around and searched for the sound of the voice.

“Hey, this horse talks!” exclaimed one of them.

“Nah, you goof, it’s this little chap,” stated the last one. His gaze landed on Tom. “Why don’t you buzz off, we certainly don’t need a little shrimp like you underfoot.”

Tom turned to scale the side of the mill and climb atop his horse.

“Wait just a second there, little friend …” said the first robber, noticing Tom’s size and skill. I think we could use your help. We … uh … dropped all our earnings from the market down this cellar. You think you could help us get it if we were to lower you down?” The robber gestured beneath the iron grate to the darkness below.

“Oh how unfortunate,” said Tom. “I’d be glad to lend a hand.” And soon enough, Tom found himself tethered to a rope made from the gang’s stinky socks, lowered through the iron grate and into the depths of the cellar.

“I see it,” Tom cried. “I see the coins!”

The robbers shared greedy grins. “Tie the bag to your waist and we’ll haul you up,” they instructed.

Tom did as he was told and the crew yanked him back up to the top.

“Oh, wow, you’re speedy,” Tom remarked as the robbers hastily untied him. While Tom scrambled atop his horse, the robbers busied themselves with counting ‘their’ money. One glanced his way. “Hold on there, before you go, here’s a small piece for your help,” he said and tossed Tom a small gold coin. “Now to the inn!” the robber said. “I’ll buy the drinks!”

Tom did as he was told and the crew yanked him back up to the top.

When Tom returned home that evening, his parents were already asleep. He crept in quietly and tucked the shiny gold piece into a cookie jar, thinking he’d surprise everyone in the morning.

But in the morning, Tom slept in. And when his mother heard a knock at the door she was greeted with a different sort of surprise. An imposing patrolman, helmet in hand and sword by his side, stood on the threshold.

“My goodness, can I help you with something?” Tom’s mother stammered.

“We are seeking a band of robbers who raided the city treasury yesterday,” the patrolman explained. “Have you seen any suspicious characters around, Ma’am?”

“Whatever do you mean?” asked Tom’s father, joining the pair at the door. “What does ‘suspicious’ look like?”

The patrolman was surprised. “Someone out of the ordinary, someone different from the folks we have in the city.”

“We welcome strangers on our land. We don’t look down on difference,” Tom’s mom stated proudly.

The patrolman looked taken aback. “Well, I didn’t mean to offend.”

“Apology accepted. Won’t you have a cookie on your way?” Tom’s dad offered the cookie jar so the patrolmen could select a treat. “So there’s no hard feelings.”

“Well, don’t mind if I do,” the patrolman said and reached in the jar. Only instead of a cookie the patrolman pulled out the gold piece!

The patrolman’s expression soured as he inspected it. “This is marked with the seal of the city. How did you come by this? It’s part of the stolen loot.”

The couple looked stunned. “We’ve no idea how that got there,” they pleaded, but the patrolman arrested them on the spot and tied them to a tree. The commotion roused Tom from his sleep and he raced out in his jammies. “What is the meaning of this? Let them go!” Tom cried.

“These two have stolen from the city treasury,” the patrolmen said, ready to leave for the town jail. “Looking around this old place with a shiny new roof and stove, I wager they spent the contraband already! This gold coin is all that’s left.” The patrolman held up the gold piece.

Tom’s eyes widened as he took in the evidence. “I know just where that came from. I can take you to the people who took it.”

Tom leapt from stump to stump, then from limb to limb, and reached the shoulders of the patrolman’s steed. He whispered in its ear and the horse was off like a shot, bounding down the road towards the city.

Outside the city was an inn that greeted travelers. Tom asked the horse to stop and he slid down its mane.

“Inside the inn you’ll find the real robbers,” he said.

And sure enough, when the patrolman and Tom entered the inn, they found the robbers in knee-high socks sleeping at a lonely table littered with empty dishes. When they snored, their bodies jingled with the sound of loose coins.

Tom and the patrolman shook the thieves awake and an abundance of coins fell to the floor. The patrolman was shocked and called for the inspector. While they secured the true culprits and recovered the city treasure, Tom returned and untied his parents.

“I can’t believe they thought you were mixed up in this.” Tom was in tears. “I’m so sorry!”

“Sometimes that happens,” Tom’s mother consoled him. “People take one look at your life and decide something about you that is not true.”

“But it’s all my fault, if I hadn’t been so eager to help …” Tom started.

“Oh, don’t ever lose your desire to help others. It’s what saved us today,” his father comforted.

The following day, Tom and his family received a knock on the door. It was the inspector!

“Sorry to bother you,” he began. “I wanted to offer you an official apology from our office. We were wrong to make assumptions about you lumberjacks.”

The family welcomed him in and this time there were cookies—and only cookies—in the cookie jar. Over a sweet treat the foursome talked, and the inspector proposed an idea. “How’d you like to be the Forest Warden for the mountains, Tom? We need an ambassador who understands the important work of this community. It would help to keep us connected and prevent mistakes like the wrongful accusation you experienced. Whatd’ya say?”

“I say yes!” Tom chimed in.

Tom received a special uniform with a badge and belt, and a very tall hat so all could spot him. He welcomed members of the police from all over the region to the mountain top to learn from and build relationships with each other. The connections built at Tom’s mountain retreats shaped officers who were just and understanding. So Tom’s legacy became more than just the thoughtful care of the forest. It became the thoughtful treatment of people.