The Dinosaur and the Clay Footprint

Nell was just tall enough to see into the spring without climbing on a rock. She liked to watch the water lift a single grain of sand, carry it a little way, and put it down again. Sometimes she brought a leaf to sail. Tonight the spring had carried a strip of soft clay onto the bank, and a footprint in the clay was filling with water.

It was a dinosaur footprint. Nell knew that much from the three round toes. It was almost exactly the size of her own foot, except for a shallow dip on one side. She raised her foot to compare the shapes, then set it carefully on a dry stone. If she stepped into the track, she would lose the little dip.

Grandmother was coming down the path with a cup for the spring water. Nell called to her. “Somebody my size walked here,” she said. “Do you see what happened to the side of their foot?” Grandmother set her cup on the stone and looked for a while. She kept her tail tucked up so it wouldn’t sweep across the bank.

“Perhaps they had something with them,” Grandmother said. “What would fit into that little space?” Nell looked under the nearest bush. There was a cone, which was too big, and a piece of bark, which was too straight. Then she found half of a little curled leaf, still wet on one side. She held it above the dip. It would fit exactly.

Nell wanted to see which way the other dinosaur had gone. There were marks on the dry path, but they were too old to read. Grandmother had brought a small cloth to wrap her cup. She spread it on a rock and took two slices of pear out of her pocket. They sat there and ate while the spring carried another speck of sand down the hill.

From the rock Nell could see where the clay had come from. It was part of a small ledge above the bank. When the water rose, it had lifted the top of the ledge and folded it over. A second print was still visible on the ledge. There was a line between the two prints where something had been dragged.

Nell looked at the leaves in the bush. They were the same kind she’d used yesterday to make a boat. She remembered how one end of her leaf had stuck under her foot while she pulled the rest out by the stem. She had hopped all the way to the dry rock with the stem still in her mouth.

“I think it was me,” she said. She fitted the curled piece into the dip without touching the water. “This is the other half of my boat.” Grandmother leaned in to see. Nell turned the leaf over and found the red stripe she had noticed the day before. It was still there, right down the middle.

Grandmother filled her cup. The track filled at the same time, and the three round toes slowly disappeared under water. Nell watched until the last of the clay went soft. On the way home she picked up a new leaf, one with a long stem and no tears. When they got to the nest she set it beside Grandmother’s cup to dry.

The leaves that lined her bed made a little sound as she settled into them. She tried to remember exactly where she had left her footprints on the path that evening. There was one by the spring, and another close to home. Tomorrow somebody might walk by and wonder about them. She put one foot on top of the other and fell asleep before she could decide who it might be.