The bus had taken them to an unfamiliar street. How would they ever get home?
Your kids will love this dramatized version of the Jolly Solly series, read by Nechama B.
They can follow along with the video, or the printout, and color the picture too!
Click on the images to download the printable versions of the story and color-in picture
Fishel and Faivish were trudging home after a long day of school.
“Who invented schools?” asked Fishel sourly.
“I would like a word with him,” said Faivish bitterly.
“But the Rosh Hashanah assembly this afternoon wasn’t so bad,” mused Fishel.
“Yeah.” Faivish agreed for a change. “The principal told a pretty good story.”
“And he told us to keep our eyes open for mitzvah opportunities.” Fishel’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t see any, though — can you?”
“Nah. Just the same old, same old.”
They resumed walking when, suddenly, Fishel stopped short and gasped.
“Whassa matter?” asked Faivish.
Fishel pointed a shaking finger at the Rabinowitzes’ house. A strange man with a backpack had just come out of the side entrance.
“That fella sure looks fishy,” he hissed. “I bet he’s a thief! Probably got stolen stuff in his backpack. Let’s follow him!”
“Yeah!” echoed Faivish.
Immediately, the pair acted like their latest comic book hero. He was a secret agent who could disable a dozen thieves with a flick of his finger. Keeping a discreet distance, they followed the man up the road.
“Stop clomping!” Fishel hissed.
“Stop stomping!” Faivish hissed back.
The suspect slowed down just then and seemed about to turn around. Fishel and Faivish quickly fell silent.
After about ten minutes, the suspect entered a café. Fishel and Faivish watched from outside. Was he meeting an accomplice? But all he did was order sandwiches and gobble them down. This reminded Fishel and Faivish that they were hungry.
The man got up then and left the café. The brothers followed. Suddenly, he started walking really fast. They watched in dismay as he hopped onto a bus.
“Quick! We’ve gotta get on, too!” said Fishel.
The brothers just managed to squeeze on at the last moment. Fortunately, the suspect had moved to the back of the bus.
“Tickets,” said the driver.
Uh-oh. They gulped. They had no tickets. They also had no money.
Fishel tried to convince the driver to let them stay on, as they were on a top-secret mission. Faivish tried his best smile. Nothing worked. The driver let them off at the next stop.
To make things worse, as they looked around them, they realized they were lost. Oh dear. The bus had taken them to an unfamiliar street. How would they ever get home?
As they stood there, a familiar-looking car pulled up beside them and honked. Fishel and Faivish could have cried with joy when they saw Jolly Solly at the wheel.
“There you are!” he said. “Your mother’s very worried about you. She was about to call the police! I told her I’d do a quick drive around to look for you.”
Fishel and Faivish climbed into the car with relief.
“It’s not our fault we’re late,” Fishel protested. “We were trying to catch a thief!”
“Yeah! We followed him all the way from Sunny Lane.”
Jolly Solly called Mrs. Friedman to let her know the boys were safe. Then he questioned them further.
“Boys,” he said gently. “I commend your, err, spirit. But next time, first let your mother know where you are. And maybe check things out before jumping to conclusions? You see, the man you described is innocent.”
“But — we saw him come out of Rafi’s house!”
“He had a backpack, probably for the loot!”
“I can see how that seemed suspicious. But actually, I know him. He’s a tiler, who’s putting down the Rabinowitzes’ new kitchen floor.”
Poor Fishel and Faivish gaped like a pair of stranded fish.
The clown pulled up outside their house. Mr. Friedman’s minivan was there. That meant no getting off lightly for this escapade. Uh-oh.
“Hey, chin up guys,” said Jolly Solly. He didn’t like seeing anyone upset. “Hmmm, what’s this?”
He pulled a handful of huffle-puffles out of Fishel’s and Faivish’s sleeves.
The brothers, clutching the puffy candies, headed home.
The near future still looked bitter, but everything seems just a bit sweeter with a huffle-puffle in your pocket.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 828)
Oops! We could not locate your form.