The Lighthouse Inside Grandpa's Teapot
Grandpa Ode owned an enormous blue teapot that had never held a single drop of tea. When Ines carefully lifted the lid, she discovered a miniature sea rippling inside. Gray waves rolled from wall to wall, and in the middle, a lighthouse no taller than a pencil stood on a jagged rock.
"Keep it perfectly level," Grandpa warned. "If you tip it too far, the whole tide will spill across the table."
Ines set the teapot down on the kitchen table and watched it patiently. Every hour the water climbed a little higher and then sank back again, exactly like a real tide. A toy-sized boat bobbed near the rock, and its sail was no bigger than a grain of rice.
Then the rain began, and it poured for three straight days until the kitchen grew gloomy. Inside the teapot, the lighthouse lamp flickered weakly and went dark. The little boat spun in helpless circles, lost in the blackness.
"That lamp feeds on daylight," Grandpa said sadly. "With clouds like these, there is none to be found."
Ines thought hard, and then she dashed off to fetch her bike light. She held it over the spout and switched it on, and a white beam slid down into the teapot. The lighthouse glowed gold, and slowly the boat turned toward the rock and slipped into a sheltered cove behind it.
"Well done," said Grandpa proudly. "Tonight, you are the keeper."