Grandmother Wren's Soup

On a crisp autumn afternoon, a little girl named Maisie went to visit her grandmother, who lived in a small house at the end of a lane where the leaves had all turned to copper and gold.

Grandmother Wren was in the kitchen when Maisie arrived, standing at the stove in her big striped apron, stirring a pot that smelled so wonderful it made Maisie's nose tingle.

"Ah! Just in time," said Grandmother Wren. "Come and help me."

Maisie climbed onto her step stool and looked into the pot. It was full of vegetables — carrots and onions and little round potatoes and dark green herbs — all bubbling gently in a rich golden broth.

"What does it need?" asked Grandmother Wren.

Maisie thought about it very carefully. She tasted a small spoonful. "It's already wonderful," she said.

"It's almost wonderful," said Grandmother Wren, with a knowing smile. "It needs one more thing."

"What?" said Maisie.

"That's for you to decide," said Grandmother Wren. "Go and find what you want to add."

Maisie went out to the garden in the autumn afternoon. She looked at the herbs. She looked at the late flowers. She found a small orange marigold growing beside the garden wall — its petals were like tiny pieces of sunshine.

She carried it carefully inside. "Can I add this?"

Grandmother Wren looked at the marigold. "Perfect," she said. And she let Maisie drop three petals into the pot.

The soup turned the most beautiful warm golden colour.

When they sat down together at the little kitchen table and ate their soup with thick bread and butter, Maisie decided it was the best soup she had ever tasted.

"What made it so good?" she asked.

Grandmother Wren looked at her over the rim of her bowl. "The same thing that always makes it good," she said. "You."

Maisie smiled so wide that Grandmother Wren laughed, and the little house at the end of the lane was very warm and bright that afternoon.