The Mitten a personalized book with your child as the hero

On a bright winter morning, snow lay soft and deep over the village. Smoke curled from the chimneys, and the birch trees stood silver along the lane. A child pulled on a berry-red coat, wound a cream scarf twice around their neck, and took Grandmother's hand. Grandmother wore her blue coat and cream headscarf, and carried a covered basket for a neighbour.

They walked slowly, because the snow squeaked underfoot and there was a great deal to look at. The child swung both arms and sang a little tune. Somewhere along the way, one cream mitten slipped from a small hand and fell into the snow. The other stayed in the child's fist. Neither of them noticed, and the lane carried them on.

The mitten lay in a hollow of clean snow, round and woolly and still a little warm. A tiny brown mouse came by, shivering from nose to tail. She sniffed the opening and peered in. It smelled of wool and of someone's pocket. "What a splendid house," she squeaked, and she tucked herself inside.

Soon a little green frog came hopping and blinking over the drift. He had stayed out too late, and his legs were stiff with cold. "May I come in?" he asked, looking over the edge. "There is room if you do not mind my whiskers," said the mouse. The frog squeezed in beside her, and the wool seemed to grow a little wider to fit them both.

A sandy-brown hare came bounding past the birch trunk, ears high. He stopped so quickly that snow sprayed from his feet. "Is there space for one more?" he asked. The mouse and frog shuffled over. The mitten sighed, stretched, and made room as if it had been waiting for him all along.

Then came a russet fox, stepping neatly in her own tracks. She smelled the warm wool and lifted her chin. "A cold day for a long walk," she said politely. "Might I join you?" The hare, the mouse and the frog made a little space, and the fox curled in. Behind her a soft grey wolf appeared from the trees. He was tired and rather hungry, but when he saw the crowded mitten he only asked, "Please, is there a corner for me?" Everyone budged up. The mitten opening stretched wide, and in he went.

By now the mitten was no longer a mitten that anyone could carry. It had swelled like a snug little tent, with wool walls rounded against the wind. Out of the trees ambled a gentle wild boar, snuffling the snow. "Is it true that there is room here?" he grunted. "A little," said the fox, "if we all breathe in." They did, and the boar wedged himself in at the edge.

Last of all came a great warm-brown bear, slow and sleepy. His steps made deep round prints in the snow. He stopped before the tent-sized mitten and looked at all the faces peering out. "I should like to come in," he rumbled, "and I promise to be careful." Nobody could say no to a bear who asked so nicely. The mitten stretched until its stitches creaked, and the bear squeezed in and sat very still.

It was quiet for a while. The animals felt warm for the first time that day, and the snow fell lightly around the wool. Then a flea, a very small flea indeed, hopped onto the bear's great nose. She was so light that no one saw her at all, but the bear felt a tickle. His nose twitched. His eyes crinkled. His mouth opened wide.

"Ah... ah... AH-CHOO!"

The sneeze blew through the mitten like a gust of wind. Out tumbled the boar, the wolf, the fox, the hare, the frog and the mouse, rolling gently into a deep drift of soft powdery snow. Nobody was hurt. They sat up, shook themselves, and blinked at one another. Then each went off its own way into the trees. The tiny flea hopped away after them, and the bear lumbered off, saying sorry to nobody in particular.

The mitten was left behind, stretched and empty, and the snow went quiet again.

By and by, Grandmother and the child came back along the lane after delivering the basket. The child suddenly stopped. "My mitten," they said. There it lay in the snow, far bigger than before, its opening wide, with nothing inside. All around it were tracks, tiny prints, hopping prints, big round prints, leading off toward the birches. Grandmother lifted her eyebrows and said, "Well, now. It seems someone has been visiting."

They did not follow the prints, for the wild folk of the forest like their privacy. The child picked up the mitten with both hands. It was soft and warm, stretched and loose like a hat. Grandmother and the child went home together, wondering all the way, while the sky turned pink behind the roofs.

In the kitchen, the stove glowed, and a woven cloth lay across the table beside a covered basket of Grandmother's baking. The child set the big stretched mitten on the table and laid the matching one beside it. One was ordinary, and one looked as if it had held half the forest. "Who do you think it was?" the child asked. Grandmother smiled and poured two cups of warm milk. "Someone who needed a warm place," she said, "and who found one."

The child nodded slowly, and the wool seemed to smell faintly of snow and of fur. Outside, the winter evening settled over the village. The child sat close to Grandmother, both mittens within reach, and thought about the animals in the snow.