Mogey and Smush loved to look at Benson Barnknuckle's ball of yarn. It was more than eighteen feet across and contained such a dazzling array of colors that Mogey and Smush could stare at it for hours on end, smelling the sweet smell of ancient yarn. Benson Barnknuckle didn't care: he was so proud of his ball of yarn that he'd bring onlookers a glass of limeade and a plate of fried parsnips, just to keep them around.
"Mr. Barnknuckle," Smush began one wintry day when he and Mogey had been studying the ball for most of the afternoon, "there's something I've always wanted to know. How did you start building the ball?"
"Ho ho ho," Benson Barnknuckle laughed, for he was a jovial sort. "You young lads are always so curious. How do you think I started it?"
"I think you pushed a little ball of yarn down a hill covered with more yarn!" Mogey said around a mouthful of fried parsnips.
"Not quite, laddie," Benson Barnknuckle replied. "No, at the very center of that ball of yarn lies the hoof of a horse who tried to steal my granddad's wristwatch. I caught him in the act, the sneaky bugger. Well I taught him! There isn't much point to stealing a wristwatch if you haven't got a hoof to keep it on, is there boys?" Benson Barnknuckle exclaimed with a grin, clapping Smush on the back.
Mogey and Smush exchanged looks of horror and backed slowly away from Benson Barnknuckle's big ball of yarn.
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