Mr. Alder and the Extra Loaf

Chapter 1: A shopkeeper who gives extra to a hungry child and is rewarded in an unexpected way

On the corner of Thistle Street, between a shoe repair shop and a flower stall, stood a small bakery with a green door and a bell that jingled whenever anyone stepped inside. The sign above it read: ALDER'S BREAD.

Mr. Alder, the baker, was a round, gentle man with flour in his eyebrows and a habit of humming while he worked. He rose before dawn each morning to knead dough, and by the time the sun was up, the whole street smelled of warm bread and cinnamon.

His shop was not rich. Some months were good and some were thin, and he counted every coin carefully. But Mr. Alder had one rule he never broke: Nobody leaves my shop hungry if I can help it.

One chilly Tuesday afternoon, just as Mr. Alder was wiping down the counter, the bell jingled softly.

In the doorway stood a small boy, perhaps eight years old, in a jacket too thin for the weather. His shoes were scuffed, his cheeks were pale, and he clutched something tightly in his fist.

He walked slowly to the counter and opened his hand. Inside were three small coins.

"Please, sir," he said, in a voice barely above a whisper. "How much bread can I get for this?"

Mr. Alder looked at the coins. Then he looked at the boy, at the hollow of his cheeks and the way his eyes kept drifting toward the warm loaves in the window.

He knew exactly how much bread three coins could buy. It was one small roll.

"Let me see," said Mr. Alder, tapping his chin as if he were doing a very difficult sum. "Three coins. Hmm. Yes, I believe that's the price of a loaf."