Deep within the emerald jungle, where sunlight filters through the trees, lives a raccoon named Barnaby. Barnaby is the richest animal in the entire forest, but he is also the unhappiest.
His tree hollow was filled to the brim with glittering “treasures”: smooth pebbles polished by the stream, shimmering beetle shells, a few rusty old buttons, and a feather with a glass bead on it that he’d found somewhere. Every morning, while the other little animals were singing in the treetops and rolling around in the grass, Barnaby would always sit at the entrance to his tree hollow, wiping his treasures over and over with his furry little paws, muttering to himself, “This is my stone, this is my button—no one is allowed to touch them.”
Gradually, the little animals in the forest stopped coming to play with Barnaby. Lily the squirrel wanted to borrow a glass bead to make a necklace, but Barnaby shook his head: “No, you’ll lose it.” Toby the hedgehog wanted to borrow a button to use as a wheel, but Barnaby waved his hand: “No, you’ll get it dirty.” Barnaby’s tree hollow was getting fuller and fuller, yet his heart felt as if it were being strangled by vines, growing tighter and tighter.
One drizzly evening, as Barnaby was counting his beetle shells, he suddenly heard a faint sob coming from outside his tree hollow. He poked his head out and saw Toby the little hedgehog crouching in the muddy water, the berries on his back scattered all over the ground, and a bright red wild berry rolling down the slope. Toby stamped his feet in frustration, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t catch up to it.
Barnaby’s heart suddenly gave a little “thud.” He looked down at the cool beetle shells in his arms, then looked up at Toby’s muddy little face. After a few seconds of hesitation, he suddenly grabbed the roundest pebble and, as if tossing a small stone, gently tapped the muddy ground just in front of the wild berry. The berry was stopped by the pebble and came to a halt.
Toby looked up in surprise and delight. He saw Barnaby, his face flushed, tucking the pebble back into the tree hollow and whispering, “I… I just didn’t want the mud to get on my stones.”
But Toby smiled. He picked up the wild berry, pulled a small daisy—damp from the rain—from behind his back, and gently placed it at the opening of Barnaby’s tree hollow: “Thank you, Barnaby. This flower is even prettier than your stones.”
That night, Barnaby didn’t count his treasures anymore. Lying on his bed of dry grass, he gazed at the little daisy by the tree hollow, gently swaying in the breeze, and suddenly felt something inside him melt away quietly, like a spring stream.
Early the next morning, as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the leaves, Barnaby did something that surprised the entire forest—he stood at the entrance to his tree hollow, arms full of “treasures,” and called out loudly, “Lily! Toby! Everyone, come quick! I can string my stones into a necklace, use the buttons as wheels, and this feather can be your conductor’s baton!”
The little animals rushed over, cheering, and for the first time, laughter clearer than birdsong rang out from the tree hollow. Barnaby watched as everyone played with his treasures—Lily making rainbows with glass beads in the sunlight, Toby spinning in circles on the grass with his button-wheeled car. He suddenly realized that when treasures are shared, they become brighter and warmer, like a flower that never wilts blooming in his heart.
From then on, Barnaby still loved collecting shiny things, but he no longer locked them away in the tree hollow. He gave the roundest pebble to a lost little ant to use as a guidepost, the shiniest button to a beauty-loving butterfly to use as a mirror, and tucked that feather onto the highest tree branch, letting the wind turn it into a wind chime for the forest.
Whenever night fell, Barnaby would lie in his bed of dry grass, listening to the “tingling” song of the wind chimes outside his window, and he would always think of that little daisy, wet with rain. He finally understood that true treasures are never the stones and buttons hidden in tree hollows, but rather the warm current that surges through your heart when you reach out your little hand to others—it is more worth protecting than all the glittering things in the world.
And because of this warmth, the night in the Emerald Forest became especially gentle and quiet, like a softly hummed lullaby, accompanying every little one cradling their treasure as they slowly, slowly drifted into sweet dreams.
