Milly was four and very sure about important things. Today's important thing was the Market of Marvels. It popped up once in a while, like a shy bunny, right at the end of her street.
Milly held her dad's hand. She wore her yellow boots. Yellow boots were good for brave walking.
At the corner, a little wooden sign blinked at them. It said, in wiggly letters, “THIS WAY TO WOW.” The arrow pointed in three directions at once, because magic was not good at choosing.
“Excuse me,” Milly told the sign. “One way, please.”
The sign blinked faster. Then the arrows lined up like polite ducks.
“Good,” said Milly. “Thank you.”
The Market of Marvels was small and cozy. It smelled like warm bread and soap bubbles. Stalls were made from bright cloth. A bell rang. Not a scary bell. A happy bell.
A wizard sat behind a table of hats. He had a long beard and a very short temper… but only a tiny bit.
“Welcome,” he said. “Try a hat. It will make you heroic.”
Milly put on a blue hat. It made her hair stand up like a dandelion.
“I look like a brave flower,” she said.
“Very heroic,” the wizard admitted.
Next door, a goblin sold jam. This goblin was green and tidy and wore an apron that said KISS THE COOK (PLEASE ASK FIRST).
“Jam?” said the goblin. “It is strawberry. It is also slightly magical.”
Milly licked a dab. Her nose went “boop!” all by itself.
“Boop!” said Milly, laughing. “My nose is telling jokes.”
The goblin bowed. “A fine nose. Very funny. Please do not boop the mayor.”
A shiny knight clanked over. His armor squeaked like a toy. He looked serious, but his helmet had a feather that tickled his own face.
“Good day,” said the knight. “Has anyone seen a runaway dragon?”
A tiny dragon peeked from under Milly's dad's coat. It was the size of a kitten. It sneezed a puff of glitter.
“Ah,” said Milly. “Hello, dragon.”
The dragon held up a little sign. It said, “SORRY.”
The knight huffed. The goblin sighed. The wizard pinched his beard. Everyone began to talk at once.
Milly lifted her hands, like a small conductor.
“Stop,” she said, gently. “We can use kind words.”
She looked at the dragon. “Did you mean to hide?”
The dragon shook its head. It pointed at the knight's feather. Then it pointed at its own nose and sneezed again. Glitter rained on the jam jars.
“Oh,” said the knight. “My feather makes you sneeze.”
He took off the feather and held it away. The dragon stopped sneezing and smiled. A very small smile, but still a smile.
The goblin offered a napkin. “For the glitter,” he said, proud of his manners.
The wizard cleared his throat. “We will make a treaty,” he said, as if it were very grand. “No feathers near dragons. And no hiding under coats without asking.”
Milly nodded. “And we say sorry.”
The dragon tapped its sign again. “SORRY.”
The knight bowed. “Sorry for the tickly feather.”
Milly's dad bought a jar of jam that now sparkled politely. The goblin wrapped it like a gift.
As they walked home, the market bell rang one last happy ding. Milly's nose gave a tiny “boop,” like a bedtime joke.
Milly hugged her jam. “We did good talking,” she said.
“Yes,” said her dad. “Very diplomatic.”
Milly smiled all the way home in her yellow boots, and the street felt calm and bright, like magic was taking a nap nearby.
