Darla and the Vase: A Story for Kids
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This is Ria. Welcome to Little Stories for Tiny People. Our story today is a charmer, I think. It's about a sweet chipmunk named Darla who tends to make impulsive decisions. Her older sister is usually around to keep her in check, but when we meet Darla, she's alone and

For the very first time. What could go wrong? Let's find out. It's called Darla and the Vase. Take it away, Peter and Jillian. Remember, there are no pictures. You have to match the pictures in your mind. You can imagine the pictures however you want. Okay, here we go.

Darla, a chipmunk with a distinctive curl on her head and a perpetually cheerful smile, shifted her chair into a spot by the fireplace in her cottage. There, she studied it a moment, then decided it needed to be an inch to the left. There, she turned and swept her eyes over the cottage, looking at the sky.

It was a single room. She didn't even have to turn her head. Hmm... Darla had arrived two days ago. She'd been dreaming of this moment for so long. A fresh start, a little cottage of her very own, where everything could be just so. Of course, the cottage wasn't hers alone.

She'd share it with her older sister, Flora, who'd been called away for a week, but who'd be living with her soon. They were opposites, but loved each other so dearly, they always found a way to get along. Darla and Flora's brothers had helped them move into the cottage. They'd dragged in a couch,

A cozy chair, a wooden table, a woven rug Darla had made last year, when all this had been nothing but a dream.

Darla and Flora had grown up in a busy cottage with a dozen brothers and sisters, not much bigger than this one. Oh, how she'd wished for a quiet, tidy, perfect home. This, she whispered to herself, is a dream come true. Darla's sister had been loath to leave her, but she had to leave her.

Flora had always considered Darla to be her responsibility. "Are you sure you'll be alright?" Flora had said doubtfully, standing in the doorway with a suitcase. "I wish I didn't have to go away right after we moved in."

"Oh, you always worry too much. It's only a week. Besides, you have to go. It's not every day you're invited to give the keynote at a conference." "I suppose," Flora said, unconvinced. "Look, Darla." "Yes?" "Don't make any rash decisions."

Darla had a history of making rash decisions. Last spring, she'd given herself a fur cut, on a whim, right before the family's annual portraits. It was just, well, there had been a curl that wouldn't stay down. It was all askew. Darla just wanted to fix it.

But she'd gone a little overboard. "Darla, what happened to your hair? You look like you were attacked by a mongoose." But for the most part, Flora had hovered by her side, protecting her from herself at every turn. "Ooh, these leaves look delicious." "Darla, spit that out! That plant is toxic!"

Darla, let's go this way across the river. It's safer. Darla, keep it down. You could attract a predator. But for the first time in her life, Darla was alone.

And when the doorbell rang on her third day in the cottage, Darla immediately ran to the door and flung it open.

Flora would have said, Darla, look through the peephole. What if it's a fox? Thankfully, it was not a fox. It was a beaver. Hello there, Miss Chipmunk. Can I interest you in a beautiful artisanal pomade vase? Darla shook her head at the words, not even taking a look. Artisanal vase? Flora would have balked.

since they'd already spent most of their meager walnut stash on the second-paw furniture for the cottage. Darla, we can't possibly afford decorations. Remember, don't make any rash. But the beaver, who wore a spiffy blue plaid suit with a red tie, interrupted Darla's imaginings. Ms. Chipmunk, I only have four left, and they're one of a kind.

He extended a paw, and a darless gaze followed it, to his wagon, which held several distinctive porcelain vases. They were cream-colored, with intricate blue designs of a type she'd never seen. The vases positively gleamed in the afternoon sun.

Darla's eyes widened at the sight of them. It was as if the forest, the singing birds, the spiffy beaver, the swaying trees, all disappeared. This very thing had happened to Darla many times before, but she didn't know what to do.

Like when she became fixated on the wayward curl on her head, and it was all she could see. Or when she'd had the brilliant idea to bake a persimmon pie in the middle of the afternoon, and her mother had found her, frazzled, covered in flour, head to tail, having fallen under some kind of pie-baking spell.

"'I don't think I've ever seen anything so lovely,' she said quietly. The beaver's eyes lit up. "'Each vase is only one hundred and two walnuts. Oh dear.' Darla knew just what Flora would say. "'Don't you dare. We need to save our walnuts for practical things. But wouldn't it be a perfect housewarming gift for them both?'

Flora would love it, wouldn't she? Hmm, Ms. Chipmunk, I assure you, each vase is pure perfection. Perfection, Darla repeated. She ran to get the bag of walnuts Flora had stored in the cupboard.

Within a minute, she was inside her cottage, clutching one of the magnificent vases in her paws. It dazzled in the sun that streamed through the window. Darla had never owned something so delicate, so sophisticated. She stood still, savoring the moment.

imagining Flora's reaction to the vase. You know, once she got past the cost of it. Oh, Darla, it's a treasure. Darla laughed at herself, standing in the middle of her cottage, hugging a vase. She glanced around, looking for the ideal home for it. Every spot looked a touch too plain,

The kitchen table had scratches in its surface. The small bookshelf leaned to one side. The windowsill was too narrow, not to mention dingy. She couldn't very well put it on the floor. She settled on the little end table beside the rocking chair. This will have to do.

The following morning, Darla woke up in her little feather bed in the back corner of the cottage, stretched, yawned, and nearly pinched herself because she was so delighted that this new life of hers was not a dream. No noisy siblings, Darla thought with a grin.

Still groggy, Darla rubbed her eyes and rummaged in the cupboard for a bucket of seeds. As she nibbled them, standing in the center of her cottage, her eyes lit upon her vase. She'd nearly forgotten it. Oh, it was gorgeous. It gleamed in the summer sunshine flooding through the window, so shiny and spotless. In fact...

As Darla's gaze wandered from the vase to the rest of the cottage, she noticed that everything was rather dusty. The sunlight seemed to magnify the dust on every surface. The little table in the kitchen cried out to be cleaned. Darla, Darla, get the duster this instant.

Flora had said not to make any rash decisions, but surely dusting the cottage wasn't a bad impulse. Darla immediately tossed a pawful of seeds in her mouth, dropped the bucket, and ran to get the duster.

There, she said, an hour later after she'd swished the feather duster over every surface. So much better. But as soon as she settled into her chair to do a crossword, her attention wandered, drawn by the elegant vase. It was right next to her, perched on the end table, and

She had dusted the end table along with everything else, her heart nearly stopping when she'd accidentally tapped the vase, producing a loud ting sound. But now that it was clean, she noticed details she'd missed. The edges of the table were terribly worn. There were grooves on its legs, as if it had been scratched.

Flora had found all the furniture at the second paw market. Well-loved forest treasures. Well-loved indeed, Darla whispered, imagining a mangy rat scrabbling its claws all over the table legs. Her eyes darted around the room.

Next to her exquisite vase, everything looked dull. Even after being dusted. Especially after being dusted. She could see every flaw, every mark. The worst of the lot had to be the rug. How did I not notice how threadbare it is? The fibers were coming apart at points. Darla looked from the vase to the rug with a frown.

The vase deserved to be in a museum, and here it was with this ratty rug under it. Don't do anything rash. But Flora, Darla said aloud, but Flora won't miss this rug. And without another thought, she rolled it up, carried it outside, and left it on the trail.

Eight minutes later, a squirrel found it and delightedly dragged it to her treehouse. What a find! This rug will go perfectly with my slippers. Darla felt a great sense of relief after the tattered rug was out of the cottage for approximately 26 minutes.

It was just, well, the gleaming vase was like a glittering gem in a pile of rubbish. The kitchen table especially was galling.

Darla kept looking from it to the vase and back again, noticing new flaws with each glance. Scratches all over its surface. Marks, as if from naughty little chipmunks scrawling with markers. "'This table does not deserve to be anywhere near my vase.' And before considering it another moment, Darla flung open the door and dragged the table out of the cottage."

Three minutes later, two foxes found it and clasped their paws together in glee. Look at this marvelous table. Who would give away such a lovely and practical piece of furniture? Perhaps whoever it was was recently gifted an even more impressive table. That must be it. The foxes shrugged and carried it off. But Darla did not have a new table to replace the old one.

Instead, she had a growing empty spot in the center of her cottage. Still, it was not enough. Sunlight streamed through the window, putting every imperfection into sharp relief. The gorgeous vase stood, statuesque, on the little end table.

Meantime, the bookshelf leaned. No, slumped to one side. This is unacceptable. It took a great deal of effort, but Darla managed to push the bookshelf out the door. She nudged it to the side of the trail.

dusted herself off, and went back inside. The bookshelf was gone in less than a minute, snapped up by a studious skunk. I've been looking for a bookshelf to hold my 162 volumes in the history of furniture arrangement and styling. I never expected to find one so charming. When Darla stepped back inside, she was struck by how spacious her cottage looked. And...

Was that an echo, she heard as she crossed the room. But that was nice, wasn't it? Echoey could be a good thing. By then, it was mid-afternoon. Darla plopped into her chair, intending to take a nap before heading out to collect some walnuts to replace what she'd spent on the vase.

But when she sat down, a puff of dust filled the air. She watched as dust motes swirled, settling on the chair, settling on the vase. She cried and hauled the chair out the door.

It sat in the sunshine for all of seven minutes before a weasel came by with a cart. This'll fetch a pretty penny at the second paw market, yes it will. Inside, Darla paced back and forth in the increasingly empty space of her cottage. There was little to look at now.

All that was left was the astonishingly beautiful, intricately designed vase, the end table floating in the middle of the room, butting up against nothing at all, and the sofa, which looked shabby and worn. Don't make any rash decisions, Darla. But I already have. What's one more? Darla.

Where are you going to sit? You'll see, Flora. This is the only way to... Darla summoned all her strength... Make everything... To push the sofa out the door. Perfect!

The weasel was still outside, and his eyes lit up when he saw Darla abandon the sofa. This'll fetch an even prettier penny, I do believe. He wheeled both the chair and the sofa away in his cart.

When Darla returned to her cottage, it was like entering a museum with a single exhibit. There was her enchanting vase, glimmering in the late afternoon sun on its sad-looking pedestal.

"Hmm. So close. So very close," Darla whispered. "Darla," she knew her sister would say, "Darla, you can't put the vase on the floor." "But, but," Darla crossed the room and stared at the resplendent piece of porcelain

It was just as enchanting as it had been from the start. Everything else fell away when she looked at it. I have to finish what I started. And before she could imagine Flora talking her out of it, she carefully placed the vase on the floor and carried the end table out of the cottage. It was snapped up by a bear. This would be great for my ladybug figurines.

Darla sighed with relief when she stepped back inside. No little chipmunks yelling at top volume, running at top speed, laughing as they dodged furniture, nearly knocking it over. There was not even any furniture to knock over. It was all Darla had ever hoped for. Tidy. Quiet.

Perfect. Empty, Darla heard her sister say. But she pushed the thought away. Flora wouldn't be home for a few days. I'll figure it out. It was heading towards sundown, and she'd completely missed her usual nap.

Darla smiled when she saw that the late afternoon puddle of sunshine flooding through the window encircled her vase. She scampered over, curled up in a furry ball beside it, and swiftly fell asleep. Darla? Oh, Darla! What happened?

Darla. Darla blinked awake to a sharp nudge. Huh? She'd been in the middle of a hilarious dream involving a hippo circus, and it took her a second to take in the scene around her. The light had taken on that warm glow that it always did near sunset. Her sister, Flora, had

Loomed over her with a pinched look on her face and a dusty suitcase at her feet. Beside them both was the magnificent vase shimmering in the golden hour light.

Flora had apparently not noticed it yet. She was focused on other things. "Darla, where is our stuff?" "Flora, you're home early." The conference was cut short because of crickets.

Were we robbed? Oh, Flora, it's good to see you too. Darla, what happened here? I can explain. Look, I... Darla, we had a sofa. Here, let me just show you. We had a bookcase. Hold on a minute, will you? Darla said, scrambling up from the floor. We had a chair. Yes, but... I told you not to make any rash. I know.

No, Darla said, and waved her paw to direct Flora to finally look at her prized possession. But I got us this beautiful... The two sisters gasped as the vase, the perfect vase, the sole object in Darla's expertly curated cottage museum, toppled and shattered into pieces on the wooden floor.

There was a long measure of silence. Darla stared at the shards of vase littering the ground. When she had first set eyes on it yesterday, everything else had faded into the background in favor of its beauty. It had cast a spell on her. She could see that now. And just like that, the spell was broken.

Darla swept her eyes over the cottage. She didn't even have to turn her head. There was nothing to see, anyway. It was empty, save for the remnants of the vase. What have I done? she whispered.

I guess you made some rash decisions, Flora said with a sigh. Every decision I made was rash, Darla said, her eyes misty. I'm so sorry. Flora was silent for a long moment, as if lost in thought. Then she looked up at her little sister, really looked at her, studied her closely, as if for the first time.

Did you, Darla, did you learn something from this? Darla lifted her eyes to meet her sisters and was surprised to find them filled with kindness. I think I did. Well, Flora said, glancing around at the empty room, maybe you just needed a little extra space to make your own mistakes.

and to learn from them without me here to get in the way. Darla allowed herself a small smile. Come on, let's get this cleaned up. Together, the sisters swept up the porcelain shards. Darla, Flora said, plucking up a large piece. This is truly lovely. Let's save it as a keepsake.

As a reminder of my bad decisions, Darla said, wincing. As a thing of beauty in our new home. As a reminder that perhaps you can't grow up without breaking a few vases. A few? Darla said with a giggle. Her eyes regained their usual sparkle. It's just a saying, but...

Come on. They put the remnant of the vase on the windowsill. There was nowhere else to put it. All right, let's head out to get some new furniture, shall we? Flora said with a playful smile. Why don't you go grab the bag of walnuts I stored in the cupboard? Darla frowned and put a paw to her chin. But the walnuts... Ah, sisters, I hope you enjoyed this story.

And I hope you get to make some of your own mistakes and learn your own lessons.

Little Stories for Tiny People is written, performed, and produced by me, Rhea Pector. My in-house tech director, Peter Kay, runs my website and puts my stories in the internet for all of you to enjoy. Thank you to my Little Stories Premium subscribers. If you'd like to get more of the stories you love, access to Little Stories for Sleep, an exclusive bedtime podcast, and

and ad-free listening, join or gift a subscription by visiting littlestoriespremium.com. Thank you to Peter and Jillian for the super important reminder message at the beginning. And thank you, as always, for listening in.