Thimbleberry Stories - English
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (US Midwest- Chicago, Great Lakes)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Thimble Berry Stories by Cynthia Ryland. Nigel meets Dipper Nigel. Chipmunk, lived in a cozy little cottage on Thimble Barry Lane and he was quite the homebody. Each morning, he breakfast on dandelion scones with lavender tea. Then he said about his house work. He had painted his house bright blue and each day gave it a nice scrubbing inside and out. He had even built himself a tiny gazebo for evening thinking and of this, he was particularly proud. He was a contended young fellow. Nigel had grown up on Thimble Barry Lane and considered it quite the most beautiful place in the world. There were wild red roses growing all along the lane and Daylilies and honeysuckle. And since it lay far out in the countryside, it was ever so quiet and peaceful. The animals who lived beside the lane were all very neighborly. And at night, one could often find a little group of them at someone's home, sharing secrets, their laughter, making the candlelight flicker in the dark life did not change much from the day to day on Thimble Barry Lane. But one morning, something did change. And this was lucky for Nigel. He was taking his morning stroll wearing a bright yellow bowler head and an indigo scarf. When he heard an unfamiliar voice behind a clutch of fox gloves. Nigel stopped and cocked his head lightly to one side. A dash of this, a Sprinkle of that, a fluff of the other said a small voice. Someone must be cooking. Thought Nigel though. He could smell nothing delicious in the air. He stepped to the side of the lane and carefully spread apart the fox gloves. So he might see the puzzling chef but a chef he did not see. Instead to his surprise, Nigel saw a new dwelling on Thimble Baring Lane. It was a tiny funny little house and all of it was round, the house was round, the windows were round, the front door was round over the door. Someone had written the word welcome. But Nigel could not imagine many visitors sitting in fitting, but Nigel could not imagine many visitors sitting into such a round miniature place. He himself would never fit why he could not even put his head through the window till again from inside the roundhouse floated the voice again a bit of here. But if there it said it's a filthy everywhere, Nigel strained his head, cleared his throat and called out. Hello. Good morning. Anyone about quicker than Nigel could blink. A tiny head appeared in one of the windows. Yes about I am. Someone said and before Nigel could open his mouth to answer. The fellow had disappeared from the window and zipped out the front door. It was a hummingbird. Why Nigel had not seen a hummingbird on Thimble Barry Lane since he was a youngster. He'd heard they were all living in the poppy gardens at the governor's mansion. How do you do? Said Nigel? Gladly. So nice to have a hummingbird move in. Thank you. I am different as you can see, I moved in and moved in for good. He, as he spoke, the little hummingbird move left to right back to front, front to back, left to right. So quickly, Nigel was nearly made dizzy. He gave his head a shake to clear things up. My name is Nigel. I thought you were cooking dimer left and buzz left to right. Oh, no, not cooking. Haven't you noticed the pain all over me? Nigel blushed. I'm afraid you move so fast. I can hardly see you at all. Oh, dear. Said, differed cheerfully. Then hovered in place. His little wings humming steadily. Is this better much answered, Nigel? Enjoying the new breeze. And now I see what you mean. What are you painting? Oh, my. Everything. Would you care to come in for a tea? Nigel? Looked at the tiny round door. I'm afraid I'm the wrong size for a hummingbird home. Deeper left, of course. Oh, I've been living in the poppy gardens too long. I've forgotten. Not all the world is hummingbirds. That's why I moved to Thimbu Lane variety. Shall I bring my paintings out here? Then, Dipper asked, pardon me? Said Nigel. I thought you were painting your house. Oh, no, answered. Dipper. I'll never get around to that. Too much trouble. I keep my house as small. So there's less to tend Nigel who lived for tending could not understand this at all. Wait here. Said Dipper Nigel was about to say, all right. But before he did, Dira had zipped into his house and back out again with something in his beak. Nigel smiled. He was growing used to Dipper's flashy style.