Outside the window of Dash's living room, light snow was falling. The white flakes danced in the air like little butterflies. They settled on the tree branches and turned them, one by one, into trees as white as whipped cream.

Inside, in the warm room, four children sat around the low table. There were Dash, Ziggy, Lily and Skye. In front of them, on a yellow plastic tablecloth, were many balls of colored play-dough.

"Today we are bakers!" said Dash, laughing. Her cheeks were red because she had just finished a run around the sofa.

"I'll make the rolls," said Ziggy, and with a little jump he kneeled on the cushion. He took a brown play-dough ball and squeezed it with both hands until it became a round loaf.

"I'll make little braids," said Lily, her blue eyes focused. She started braiding three strands of orange play-dough without looking up: she was tenacious, and when Lily decided to do something, she would see it through.

"I'll make a bread star," said Skye. She said it calmly, without hurry. She flattened a yellow play-dough disk and with one finger drew the points of a star, one after another.

They were playing happily like this, when suddenly a new whistling sound was heard. Not the regular wind: a breath that seemed to say something.

"Heeelp... heeelp..."

A gust of air pushed the window which opened by itself. A cold breath came in, blowing the snowflakes right into the living room. And then, like a paper butterfly, a torn piece of paper flew in. It twirled twice above the play-dough table and landed right in front of Dash.

The four children looked at each other. Dash took the paper in her hand. It was a piece of bread paper, rough, with the smell of a faraway oven. On it was written, in slightly shaky handwriting:

"Whisper Village: the carousel won't turn anymore. Help wanted."

"The carousel won't turn?" said Ziggy, his eyes lighting up.

"And who could have sent it?" asked Lily, holding the paper with two fingers.

"Maybe the wind," said Skye, calmly. And she pointed at the still-open window.

From outside came a sound the children knew:

"CHOOO! CHOOO!"

It was Toby the Magic Train. He stopped in front of the window, red and shining, with snow on his roof like powdered sugar. He opened his doors and said, in his rhyming voice:

"Hello children, climb aboard, don't wait,
a little village calls, and the hour grows late,
where the wind sings soft through snow-white trees,
and bread horses wait in the gentle breeze."

The children laughed. "Bread horses?" wondered Dash.

"It means we have to climb on!" said Ziggy, and he took a leap that brought him right next to the door.

They put on their little coats quickly. Dash took the paper and put it in her pocket. They climbed on one after the other: Skye last, calm as always, waving goodbye to mom with her hand.

"CHOOO! CHOOO!"

Toby set off. The wheels made a happy sound on the rails hidden in the snow. Outside, the landscape changed minute by minute: white meadows, white hills, trees all white as whipped cream. On every branch was a hood of snow so soft it seemed fake.

"It looks like a garden of cakes!" said Lily, pressing her nose against the window. Skye didn't speak: she looked outside and smiled with her eyes.

After a while, Toby slowed down. In front of them was a little village. All the houses had white roofs, the chimneys puffing warm smoke, and above the village a gentle wind was blowing, whispering through the snowy branches. It really seemed the wind was saying words, but in a low voice, like when mom tells a secret.

"Whisper Village," read Skye from the sign.

The children got off. In the middle of the village was a little square. And in the middle of the square was a carousel. But what a strange carousel: the little horses weren't normal little horses. They were bread horses! Golden loaves shaped like horses, with manes made of dough braid and eyes of raisins. They were beautiful. But they were still. Sad. Silent.

"Oh," said Dash, "look how pretty... but it's not turning."

Next to the carousel was a wooden door with writing above it: "The Happy Crumb Bakery." From inside came a warm smell of fresh-baked bread and another, very sweet smell of cinnamon.

"Let's go ask there," said Lily, sure of herself.

They pushed the door open. Inside it was warm. There were shelves full of loaves, of bread rings, of moon-shaped cookies. And at the back, on top of a big open book, was a cat. A big cat, gray with stripes, his fur ruffled like grandparents' hair when they wake up from a nap. He smelled of old pages and cinnamon, because he had fallen asleep on a recipe book. He was snoring a little. Under his paw he held a small crescent-shaped bookmark.

"Sssh," went Dash, with her finger on her lips.

But the cat opened one eye. One eye only, yellow as honey. Then he opened the other one too. He stretched slowly, swaying a bit, as if still half asleep. He sat up. And then, before speaking, he raised his little paw in the air. Just one little paw. As if to say: "Now, listen carefully, I'm going to tell you something important."

"You came for the carousel," said the cat. His voice was low and gentle, like that of a grandpa who tells you a bedtime story. "My name is Bartholomew."

"You... you talk?" said Ziggy, his mouth open.

"I read, mostly," said Bartholomew, and he pointed to the big book under him. On the cover was written Ancient Carousels. "And when one reads a lot, one knows many things."

The cat got down from the book and walked, swaying, toward the window. The children followed him. Bartholomew looked at the still carousel and sighed.

"The carousel has a knot," he said. He raised his little paw again. "A secret knot. You can't see it from outside. It's underneath, inside the mechanism."

"And how do you untie it?" asked Dash.

"That knot is made of three things," Bartholomew explained. "Below there is a tangle of colored ropes, in a very narrow hole. Up high, near the carousel roof, there is a rope that has crossed itself. And then, in the middle, there is a rope as hard as a stone, holding everything together."

"And how do we do it?" asked Lily.

Bartholomew narrowed his eyes. "All of this," he said, "you will find written here inside." He patted the book with his paw. "But the book doesn't untie knots. You untie the knots."

The children went outside. They went near the carousel. The wind, above their heads, whispered: "Hurry... the sun is going down..." It was true: the sky was beginning to turn a bit pink, and the shadows of the bread horses were stretching across the snow.

"I'll start," said Dash. She bent down and tried to crawl under the carousel, but stopped at once: it was a kind of small maze of colored ropes, red, yellow, green, blue. Dash touched them one by one. "There are so many. By myself I don't know which one to pull."

Ziggy tried. He jumped hard toward the high rope near the roof, but on his own he couldn't tell if that rope was really the right one. He landed on the snow, shaking his head.

Lily grabbed the hard rope in the middle and pulled. She pulled with all her might. She gritted her teeth. But by herself it wasn't enough: the rope resisted.

Skye, calm, was watching. She hadn't done anything yet. It seemed she was thinking.

The wind blew again: "The sun is going down... the sun is going down..."

The children looked at each other. And in that moment Dash understood.

"Wait!" she said. "We can't each do everything. Bartholomew said the knot is made of three things. So we have to be many, each one for a different thing. I am quick. I'll squeeze into the holes. Ziggy, you jump higher than anyone, you go up top. Lily, you are the most tenacious, you hold the hard rope. And Skye..."

Skye smiled. "I," she said quietly, "will read the book. And I'll tell you what to do first and what to do next."

They ran into the bakery. Bartholomew opened the book for them, to the right page, and once again raised his little paw.

"Be careful with the order," he said. "The order is the key."

Skye sat next to the book with the crescent-moon bookmark in her hand. Outside, the other three each took their place.

"All right," said Skye, in her soft voice, "first Dash. Go underneath. There is a green thread. Pull the green thread to the right. Only that one."

Dash slipped in quick as a little mouse into the hole. It was tight, but she was the quickest. She found the green thread, took it, pulled it to the right. She heard a tiny "click."

"Well done," said Skye. "Now Ziggy. Jump up high. There is a yellow rope crossed with a red one. You must take the yellow one and pass it over the red one."

Ziggy took a running start, made a very high leap, stretched out his hands: he grabbed the yellow rope, moved it over the red one. He landed, laughing.

"Now," said Skye, "Lily. The hard rope, in the middle. You must pull it toward you, not down, but toward you. And don't let go."

Lily grabbed the rope with both hands. She gritted her teeth. She pulled it toward her. The rope resisted, but Lily was tenacious as a little warrior. She pulled again, and again, never letting go.

And then it happened.

The knot, under the carousel, opened. But it didn't open with a bang. It opened like a flower: first one petal, then another, then another. The colored ropes fell down, one after another, and every color that fell looked like a party ribbon.

Then music was heard. A light music, like a music box. The carousel began to turn. The bread horses, golden, rose into the air and began to spin around, filling the whole square with the smell of warm bread.

The wind, high above, clapped its hands among the leaves: "Sshhh! Sshhh! Bravo!"

Bartholomew came swaying to the bakery door. He was smiling. He raised his little paw once more, but this time not to speak: just to wave goodbye. Then he settled near the oven, on top of the warm book, and fell asleep happy, with the crescent-moon bookmark in his paw.

Dash, Ziggy, Lily and Skye hugged each other, laughing. They had snow on their coats and the smell of bread on their clothes.

"By ourselves we never could have done it," said Dash, counting on her fingers: "I'm quick, Ziggy is high, Lily is strong, Skye is wise."

"Each of us has our own talent," smiled Skye. "And put together, we make a carousel that sings."

As the sun went down slowly behind the hills as white as whipped cream, the friendly whistle was heard again:

"CHOOO! CHOOO!"

Toby was back. The children climbed on. They sat close together, all four of them, with their little hands still dusty with flour. Toby, before leaving, spoke again with his rhyming voice:

"Four little children, each with their gift,
a knot now open like a flower in the drift.
One jumps, one pulls, one shows the way:
alone you try, but together you save the day."

Toby's wheels began to turn. Outside, the trees were still white as whipped cream, but now, far away, the music of the spinning carousel could still be heard. And in Dash's pocket, the rough paper from Whisper Village now had new writing on it, appeared as if by magic:

"Thank you. The carousel sings again."

When they got home, Dash's mom was waiting with hot chocolate.

"What's this lovely smell?" she asked, sniffing the air.

"It's the smell of bread," said Dash, "and friendship."

And while outside the snow kept falling lightly on the branches as white as whipped cream, the four children knew one important thing: each of them had a talent, and when they put them together magical things happened, like a bread carousel that begins to sing again at sunset.