Mr. Smith hammered away in his garage. He looked down the street and watched Mr. Jones and his sons hauling boxes into their garage. His brow furrowed, and his expression grew harder. He hit the nail harder. Whatever it was, this year, his Christmas display had to be bigger.
For years, the two men had competed to have the biggest and best Christmas display. It started small. Mr. Jones put up some lights and a manager display with a large star on top.
Every one admired it. Mr. Smith felt it made his crude manager that his father had used seem very lame. The next year, Mr. Smith built a large manager scene with lights decking out the stable. Mr. Jones felt it was an attack on his display, and so the following year had put lights all over his house.
It was judgment day at the palace. Everyone felt the importance of the day. The maids bustled around in conspicuous quiet. They polished the gold until it shown and cleared away every speck of dust. After all, the palace needed to look the best. The butlers stood tall and straight at the door. The pages lined the back of the throne room, alert and ready for any order from the king. 
Monk rummaged through the tree house. He shoved the boxes this way and that. He scrambled up onto the rafters and looked in every crevice. Could Magellan have taken it? Monk did not want to believe it, but he had only known Magellan for a month, and twelve-year-olds can be tempted. Monk crouched on the rafter trying to figure out if this was a possibility and where it had gone.
Chesil’s ball slipped from her fingers and bounced down the old street. She gasped and gave chase. She would not lose that pink ball. It bounced past the old cloth factory, over potholes, past the weathered houses, and finally jumped behind the overgrown bush in the back corner of the Smith’s yard. Chesil leaned down beneath the bush feeling for it. Her hands patted the dirt and felt sticks, but no ball. With a sigh, she stepped up by the wall and drew back the bush. She crawled under it. That’s when she saw the crack. 
“Look there, my boy!” Sir Thomas pointed toward the castle. On the balcony, stood the king with his specter held high. “With the king behind you, you will win. He can keep their tricks from touching you. Remember the lessons you’ve learned.”
“Helen is always ready to help out, she is such a blessing to us,” Myra Smith raved to her Aunt Betty. They were sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a cup of coffee after breakfast. It was the first time Aunt Betty had been able to visit in over a decade. Myra Smith went on to relate how Helen always expressed willingness to do every any task even if she was very busy.