Who Moved the Smoker Behind the Beehives?
Every Thursday, Mina helped Mr. Okafor inspect the six wooden hives at the edge of his orchard, and her favorite responsibility was lighting the smoker, a small metal can with a bellows that puffs cool smoke to keep the bees calm. On this particular Thursday, however, the smoker was not hanging on its nail inside the shed.
Mr. Okafor scratched his white beard thoughtfully. "I put it there myself on Sunday," he said. "Tools do not simply walk away on their own."
Mina decided to treat the problem like a genuine investigation. She searched the shed first and found nothing except spare frames and a jar of honey with a crooked label, so she walked the path toward the hives and noticed something unusual about the grass behind the third one. Someone had flattened it into a neat circle, and in the middle of that circle sat the smoker, still faintly warm.
"Somebody was here this week," she said, "and they lit it."
Next to the can lay a small feather and a few crumbs of seed cake. When Mina looked up, she saw Mr. Okafor's granddaughter Lola peeking from behind the compost bin with a smudge of ash on her cheek.
Lola confessed that she had wanted to practice before the summer, when she would finally be allowed to help with the hives. She had borrowed the smoker, tried it behind the third hive where no bees would mind, and then forgotten to return it after her mother called her inside for supper.
"Next Thursday," Mr. Okafor said with a warm smile, "you may both hold it together."