Hop-o'-My-Thumb a personalized book with your child as the hero

Long ago, at the edge of a great forest, a family of seven children lived in a small cottage with their mother and father. Times were hard that year. The harvest was thin, the pantry was nearly bare, and the grown-ups spent many evenings talking in low, worried voices.

The youngest child was the smallest of all. The six older brothers and sisters often forgot that the little one was listening. But the youngest heard everything, and thought about it carefully, the way a clever person thinks about a knot before pulling the string.

One evening the child heard that the family would go deep into the forest to gather wood and look for food. The youngest said nothing. At dawn, before anyone was awake, the child crept down to the stream behind the cottage and filled a pocket with smooth white pebbles, each one round and bright as a button.

When the family set out, the older children skipped ahead along the mossy trail, laughing at the tall trees. The smallest walked last. Every few steps, a hand slipped into the pocket, and a white pebble dropped softly onto the moss. Nobody noticed. The forest grew darker and deeper, and soon the grown-ups were far behind, and the children were alone among the trunks.

The eldest looked around and gasped. "Where are we? Which way is home?"

The smallest child smiled. "Wait for the moon," the youngest said. "I have a secret."

When the moon rose, big and round, the pebbles began to shine along the ground like a path of tiny silver lamps. The youngest took the lead, and the six older children followed in a wondering line, step after step, until the lit window of the cottage appeared between the trees. Their parents were waiting at the door, relieved and glad to see them.

But the hard times did not end. Soon the family had to walk into the forest again. This time the door was locked early, and the child could not reach the stream. All the youngest had was a crust of bread. So the child crumbled it and dropped the crumbs along the path, hoping for the best.

When the moon rose that night, the path was empty. Small birds had come down from the branches, pecking and fluttering, and every crumb was gone. The children turned in circles. The trees looked the same in every direction, and an owl called somewhere far away.

"We are lost," whispered the second sister, her voice thin with worry.

"We are lost," the smallest agreed. "But we are together, and that is a good place to begin."

They walked until their feet ached. At last they saw a warm glow ahead, and then a cottage, larger than any they had ever seen. Its wooden door was as tall as a barn. A great lantern hung beside it, swaying in the wind. The children huddled together and stared up.

"A giant lives here," said the oldest brother. "We should leave."

Then a deep voice boomed from inside, so low that the windows trembled. Someone heavy was walking across the floor. The door opened a crack, and the children shrank back. The giant looked down at them and growled that no visitors were welcome, and that he would lock his gate for the night. He took a great iron key and shuffled to the yard, where he sat down by the wall, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Soon his snores rolled across the garden like thunder.

The smallest child counted the snores. "Quietly now," the child whispered, and took the oldest sister's hand. "There is a small side gate beside the woodpile. Follow me, one at a time, and step on tiptoe."

The six older children crept after the youngest, past the great wall where the giant's shadow rose and fell with each breath. The gate creaked only a little. One by one they slipped through, holding their breath, and out into the cool night.

On the far side of the wall, a pair of enormous boots stood by the gatepost, polished and gleaming, with silver buckles. They were the giant's seven-league boots, and they hummed softly with magic. The smallest child had heard of such boots in old stories. With a deep breath, the child stepped into them, and the boots shrank and settled neatly around the little feet, just the right size.

The child took one step, and the whole forest swept by in a rush of leaves. A second step carried the child over a river. A broad moonlit path unrolled ahead, silver as a ribbon, and the hills leapt closer with each stride.

"Hold my hand!" the child called, and the brothers and sisters caught hold, one after another, and were carried along in a laughing chain, over meadows and streams and sleeping villages, until the little cottage appeared below them with its lamp still burning.

The parents ran out in astonishment. They hugged all seven children tightly, and promised that the family would stay together, whatever the winter brought.

And by the doorway the smallest child set down a pouch of white pebbles and the magical boots, to remind everyone that cleverness, courage and a calm heart can find the way, even in the darkest wood.