Children’s story
Tomás, terrified, almost fainted 
The Ghost of the Mill 
And what it was will make you laugh! 
That evening, like so many others in the orchard, the Chicago Air Motor windmill turned slowly in the gentle breeze. The blackberries were ripe, and the large tree offered us shade while the children settled at Uncle Augustine’s feet, who already had his twig in his mouth and his hat firmly on.
«Today I’m going to tell you something that happened to Tomas when he was younger,» he said with a mischievous smile. «Although he was very scared at first… now he laughs every time he remembers it.»
Tomás, a little older now, covered his face with his hands while the other children looked at him with curious eyes.
«A scary story, Uncle?» asked Rita, the smallest of the group.
«Well… it depends on how you look at it,» said Uncle Augustine with a chuckle. It turns out that one night, after everyone had gone to sleep, Tomás eavesdropped on the ghost stories his grandmother was telling his sisters. I was there too, of course. She talked about the “Boy with the Green Lamp,” the “Scarecrow of the Creek,” and even the “Faceless Horseman.”
Tomás quietly covered himself with a blanket in the living room, pretending to be asleep… but his eyes were wider than the ranch gate.
The children laughed. Tomás just nodded, remembering that night well.
“When Grandma finished telling the stories, she looked at me out of the corner of her eye and said loudly, ‘That boy is already asleep. You better send him home before the night watchman catches him.’ And I knew she was talking about Tomás. So I touched his shoulder, and he pretended to wake up.
“I didn’t want to leave!” Tomás protested. “The story was so good!”
—I know, boy! But the best part comes now. You see. The path from the mill to Tomás’s house isn’t very long, but that night there was no moon. Only the whistling of the wind and the creaking of the mill accompanied his steps. Tomás walked with his heart heavy, imagining the Faceless Horseman coming down the hill or the Scarecrow dragging his chains along the path.
The children’s eyes widened.
—He was walking quickly, looking around, when suddenly… he heard something. Tac, tac!… slow footsteps. He stopped. The mill turned once more, creak, and the wind fell silent. Then, in front of him, two enormous eyes shone in the darkness. Fixed. Round. Like two lit lanterns!
—AAAAH!—Rita shouted, hugging her cousin.
—Tomás shouted even louder!—Uncle Agustín said, laughing. He ran out like a bat out of hell, crossed Grandma’s yard, went through the door, and hid under the table, shaking like jelly.
«And what was it, Uncle?» a boy asked, without blinking.
«Well… we all went out with lamps, thinking the ghost himself had appeared. But do you know what it was?»
Everyone shook their heads, holding their breath.
«It was Pancracio!» said Uncle Agustín, bursting into laughter. «Don Eulogio’s donkey!» He had gotten loose and was strolling calmly around the mill. His eyes reflected the light from the house, and he looked like a ghost, but he was actually looking for fallen blackberries.
The laughter was not long in coming. Tomás laughed too, now without shame.
«Since then, Tomás isn’t afraid of ghosts anymore… but every time he sees a donkey, he cracks a little smile,» Uncle Agustín concluded with a wink.
The children applauded and asked for another story. But first, Grandma Doña María arrived with sweet bread and a pot of hot atole.
«And now, for a snack!» she said affectionately. «No story is ever enjoyed on an empty stomach.»
And so, amid laughter, blackberries, and bread rolls, that night was etched in the children’s hearts… like one of the many times fear dissolves with the light of truth.
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When Music Came Back to the Village 
A Children’s Story about Dreams, Passion and Hope 
One sunny afternoon, Sofia and Tomas were playing hide-and-seek at Grandma’s house when, in the old attic, they found a dusty case. Intrigued, they opened it and inside they discovered a beautiful dark-wood violin.
«Look at this, Sofia!» exclaimed Tomas. «It’s a violin, but we’ve never seen Grandma play it.»
Filled with curiosity, they ran down to the kitchen, where Grandma was kneading sweet bread.
«Grandma!» said Sofia, showing the violin. «Is it yours?»
Grandma was silent for a moment. Her gaze scanned the instrument with a mixture of nostalgia and melancholy.
«Yes, it’s mine,» she replied softly. «Many years ago, I used to play it at all the village festivities.»
«How incredible!» said Tomas. «Why didn’t you ever tell us?»
Grandma sighed and put the wooden spoon back on the table.
«Because I don’t play it anymore. I made a promise a long time ago.»
The children looked at each other in confusion. That answer only increased their curiosity. Later, they went to find Uncle Augustine, who always had the best stories.
«When we were young,» he told them, «your grandmother was the best violinist in town. She played at all the parties and her music brought joy to everyone. But when your grandfather fell ill, she promised him she would never play without him again. She said that without his lifelong companion, music was meaningless.»
The children felt a lump in their throats.
«But, Uncle, Grandma is still here… and so is the music,» Sofia said determinedly.
The next day, they convinced Grandma to dust off the violin.
«I don’t know if I can still play,» she whispered, running her fingers over the strings.
«Just try,» Tomas urged. «Music shouldn’t stay asleep forever.»
But Grandma hesitated.
«It’s not just the promise,» she confessed. «My hands haven’t been as steady for years. Arthritis has made my fingers stiff and clumsy. I don’t know if I can move them like I used to.»
The children fell silent. They had never thought of that.
«But, Grandma…» Sofia took their hands tenderly. «What if you try little by little?»
Grandma sighed. She looked at the violin, then at her grandchildren, and finally smiled sweetly.
«Okay, I’ll try.»
She took a breath and placed the violin under her chin. With trembling hands, she slid the bow over the strings.
At first, the sound was faint, but soon a sweet, vibrant melody filled the air.
The sound floated through the streets, and the neighbors, hearing it, came out of their houses. Soon, the entire village was gathered around Grandmother, tears in their eyes and smiles on their faces.
«It’s Doña Maria’s music!» exclaimed an old man. «I thought we’d never hear it again.»
The children watched in amazement as Grandmother closed her eyes, letting the music flow as if time had never passed.
As the last note faded, applause erupted in the plaza.
«It’s never too late to recover what we love,» whispered Uncle Agustín.
Grandmother smiled, the violin still in her hands.
«Maybe… it’s time to play more often.»
That night, music filled the village again, and Grandmother’s heart as well.
And from then on, every evening, the children ran to the courtyard to hear her play, reminding her that dreams never fade; they just wait for the right moment to shine again.
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A Buried Chest Found in the Orchard. 
It is Incredible 
What They Found Inside.
The windmill turned slowly in the afternoon breeze. Like every day, the children gathered under the large mulberry tree, waiting for stories from Uncle Augustine and Grandma. But that afternoon, instead of starting with a story, Uncle Augustine arrived with his shovel over his shoulder, his clothes covered in dirt.
«I won’t tell you a story today—because we’re going to live one!» he announced with a mysterious smile.
The children looked at each other, intrigued.
«What happened, Uncle?» asked Juanito, the most curious of the group.
«Well, it turns out that this morning, while I was helping Grandma in the garden, my shovel hit something hard under the ground. I dug a little, and guess what I found?»
«A dinosaur bone?» said Mariana, her eyes shining with excitement.
«No, an ancient chest!» replied Uncle Augustine.
The children gasped in surprise, and Grandma chimed in with a giggle.
«Many years ago, when I was a child, I heard my grandfather talk about a chest someone buried here in our garden. But over time, the story was lost… until today.»
The children jumped up and down excitedly.
«Let’s open it!» Ana exclaimed.
Uncle Augustine led them to the garden, where the chest was still half-buried. It was made of thick wood, with rusty iron fittings. On the lid, carved with a knife, were words almost erased by time:
«For those who know the true value of a treasure.»
«This is getting interesting…» Grandma murmured.
Very carefully, Uncle Augustine and the children removed the dirt and lifted the chest. But when they tried to open it…
«It’s locked!» Carlitos complained.
«Where’s the key?» —Laura asked, inspecting the chest.
Grandma crossed her arms, thoughtful.
—I remember my grandfather saying that ‘the key is not in the chest, but in the story.’
—That sounds like a riddle… —said Juanito.
—Maybe the answer lies in a story that great-grandfather knew! —Mariana clapped her hands.
Grandma smiled and gathered them all under the mulberry tree.
—Listen carefully. A long time ago, in this very land, lived a very hardworking man. His name was Don Julián, and it was said that he hid something valuable before leaving on his last journey. Some thought it was gold, others that it was jewels. But he left a clue in an old piece of paper.
—A piece of paper? —the children asked in chorus.
Grandma took a yellow envelope from her apron pocket.
—I found this years ago among my grandfather’s things. I never knew what it meant, until now.
With trembling hands, she opened the envelope and took out a crumpled piece of paper with a single sentence written on it:
“Where the sun gives its first embrace.”
The children fell silent, thinking.
“The mulberry tree!” Ana suddenly exclaimed.
“Of course! Every morning, the first rays of the sun illuminate the trunk of this tree,” Mariana confirmed.
They ran to the base of the mulberry tree and began to dig. After a few minutes, Carlitos felt something hard under his hands.
“There’s something here!”
They took out a small clay jar sealed with wax. Inside was a bronze key. The key to the chest!
With great excitement, they ran back to the orchard, and Grandma turned the key in the lock. The lid creaked as it opened, and the children held their breath.
But instead of gold coins or jewels, they found…
Old books, letters, a diary, and a handful of seeds wrapped in a cloth.
«Is this the treasure?» asked Juanito, puzzled.
Uncle Agustín took one of the books and leafed through it carefully.
«Look at this. It’s Don Julián’s diary.»
Grandma took one of the letters and read it aloud:
«If you find this chest, you have already found the true treasure. Here I keep the stories of my family, the lessons of the fields, and the seeds that must continue to grow in this land. Wealth is not in gold, but in what we can share with those who come after us.»
The children fell silent, absorbing those words.
«This is a real treasure,» Grandma said with a smile. «Because memories and stories are worth more than gold.»
Uncle Agustín gently closed the book.
«And what are we going to do with the seeds?» asked Carlitos.
«Plant them in the garden, so they’ll grow and feed future generations,» replied Grandma.
That afternoon, everyone helped sow the seeds. And as the windmill slowly turned in the wind, Uncle Agustín looked at the children with pride.
«See? Today you didn’t just hear a story. You were part of it.»
The children smiled, feeling that that day, in the garden, they had found something much more valuable than a chest full of coins.
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The Mysterious Whistle of the Mill 
Ghosts or Something More? 
| Stories for Children with Intrigue and Values
The wind blew gently in Grandma’s orchard, swaying the branches of the mulberry tree and slowly turning the blades of the old windmill. Everything seemed calm until, one afternoon, a strange sound began to be heard in the air.
«It was a strange and mysterious noise!» the windmill whistled in a disturbing way.
The children, who were playing near the well, fell silent. They looked at each other in amazement and a little fear.
«Did you hear that?» asked Mateo, with wide eyes.
«It sounds like a lament…» whispered Ana, hugging her brother.
«Maybe the windmill is haunted,» said Luis, with a trembling voice.
They ran to where Uncle Augustine was, who greeted them with a calm smile, sitting under the shade of the mulberry tree.
«Uncle Augustine, the windmill is whistling!» they all said at once.
The old peasant took off his hat, scratched his beard, and looked at the windmill with curiosity.
“That’s not a ghost thing, children,” he said calmly. “If the windmill sounds strange, there must be a reason. Let’s investigate.”
With a firm step, he walked towards the windmill, followed by the children who, although still afraid, trusted that their uncle would know what to do.
The sound grew louder as they approached. Uncle Augustine watched the slowly turning blades and then looked up at the top of the tower.
“It seems that the sound is coming from up there,” he said. “Matthew, bring me the ladder.”
Matthew ran to get it and, with the help of the others, they leaned it against the structure of the windmill. Uncle Augustine climbed carefully, holding firmly on each step.
When he reached the top, between one of the wooden cracks, something moved.
“Aha!” he exclaimed. “Here is our mysterious whistle.”
The children waited anxiously below.
“What is it, Uncle Augustine?” cried Anna.
Uncle Augustine gently pulled a small bundle out from between the windmill blades and held it in his hands. As they lowered it, the children saw with surprise that it was a small owl, with wide eyes and ruffled feathers.
“It’s an owl!” exclaimed Luis. “How did it get there?”
“It seems that it got trapped when it was looking for a safe place to sleep,” explained Uncle Augustine. “Its wings were in a bad position, and when the wind passed through the gap where it was trapped, the blades moved and the little owl moaned in pain and made the windmill whistle.
The children looked at the little owl tenderly. It was scared, but healthy.
“We have to cure it,” said Anna.
“That’s right,” nodded Uncle Augustine. “But first, we have to make sure it’s calm.”
They prepared a small straw nest in a box and gave it water. Now, the little owl seemed to be doing well. Then, when the sun began to set and the sky turned orange, they took the owl to the nearby forest.
“Come on, little friend,” Mateo whispered as he opened the box.
The owl blinked a couple of times and, with a soft flap of its wings, rose into the air until it landed on a branch. From there, it looked at the children and, as if it understood what they had done for it, it let out a soft hoot before disappearing into the trees.
The children felt happy and proud.
“Today we learned something very important,” said Uncle Augustine, adjusting his hat. “Sometimes, mysteries are not what they seem. And when we work together, we can solve any problem.”
The children smiled and looked at the old windmill, which now turned silently, moved by the wind, without any more mysterious whistles and noises.
And so, in Grandma’s garden, another day full of adventures and learning ended.
Who really was Don Ezequiel? Children Uncovered the Truth in his Workshop 
Make yourselves comfortable, children, because today I will tell you something that few in this town know. It is the story of a man who, like this windmill you see turning, was always on the move, helping others without anyone noticing.
It was a day like this, with the sun shining brightly and the wind playing among the leaves of the mulberry tree. You, unruly as always, were running near the windmill when, accidentally, you broke one of my chairs. Do you remember?
Oh, Uncle Augustine! said some of the children with worried faces. «It wasn’t our intention!»
Of course, children are always getting into mischief. But instead of getting angry, I proposed a solution:
We went to Don Ezequiel. He knows more about wood than anyone.
Their faces changed at that moment remembering that thing about the broken chair. Don Ezequiel was not someone they wanted to deal with. He is an old man, quiet and unfriendly, it is said that no one has seen him smile in years.
When we arrived at his carpentry shop, he looked at us out of the corner of his eye and grunted:
And now what do you want?
I told him what had happened to the chair, and he, after examining it, said:
I can fix it… but these boys are going to help me.
So there you stayed, with your hands full of sawdust, learning to sand and join the pieces, but while you were working, I saw something interesting: your eyes began to scan the workshop.
There, among saws and boards, there were things you did not expect to see: a new crib waiting to be delivered, a carefully repaired table, and in a corner, a box full of hand-carved toys.
Who are all these toys for? —Sofia asked.
Don Ezequiel sighed, as if the question surprised him.
When someone needs them, I give them to them, he answered simply.
And then you understood. You remembered the boy who received a rocking horse when his family lost everything in a fire, or Mrs. Marta, who out of nowhere had a new door after the storm.
Was it you?, Tomás asked the old carpenter, with his eyes wide open.
He just nodded and continued sanding the chair, as if it were nothing important.
That afternoon, when you finished, you not only brought back a well-repaired chair, but a secret that no one had ever been able to see: the serious and quiet man of the town had spent his life helping everyone in silence.
That was how Mr. Ezequiel, the grumpy old carpenter, became someone unforgettable in this town.
And that, boys, is something you should never forget: sometimes, the people who seem most distant, are the ones who have given the most without expecting anything in return.
And that’s life, children, said Uncle Augustine as the wind played with the leaves of the tree. Sometimes, the biggest hearts are the ones that make the least noise.
The windmill turned slowly, as if it also agreed with his words. The children remained silent, looking towards Don Ezequiel’s carpentry shop in the distance, as if they suddenly saw it with different eyes.
Now, go and think about what you have learned today, continued Uncle Augustine. And the next time you pass by someone who seems serious and quiet, remember that behind every pair of wrinkled hands, there is a story waiting to be discovered.
He leaned forward, patted his old chair, the same one they had broken, and with a knowing smile, added:
And don’t forget to say hello to Don Ezequiel.
The children laughed softly, and one by one, they got up to go home. But something had changed in them. That afternoon, their steps were slower, as if they had learned something more valuable in their hearts than just repairing a chair.
And Uncle Augustine, with the windmill turning behind him and the mulberry tree rustling in the wind, watched them go with a quiet satisfaction, knowing that another experience had served its purpose.
The bridge of friendship. After the Storm, the Bridge Was Lost.. How Did They Rebuild It?
Under the old mulberry tree, the children sat in a circle, ready to listen to a story. Uncle Augustine adjusted his hat, looked at the horizon, and began.
—I will tell you about the day when a storm reminded us that bridges not only unite paths, but also hearts.
That night, the wind roared hard and the rain beat down on the ground without stopping. When the sun came up, the villagers found that the old wooden bridge that crossed the river had disappeared.
Panchito, a restless boy from the village, ran to Grandma’s house:
—Grandma, the bridge has fallen down!
Grandma left her cup of coffee on the table and, with the calm that characterized her, walked to the river. When she arrived, she found the neighbors gathered, worried and arguing.
—Without the bridge, we cannot take the harvest to the market —said José the carpenter.
—I cannot deliver the bread —added Mrs. Tomasa.
—Our corn harvest is almost ready. How are we going to get it to the mill? We’ll have to wait for the town hall to rebuild it. sighed Don Ramón, the farmer.
Everyone had a different opinion, and the problem seemed bigger than the solution.
The grandmother, who had listened in silence, raised her voice sweetly:
—Listen, children. A bridge is not just wood and nails. It is what unites people. If we work together, we can rebuild it.
The children were the first to react. Lalo and Panchito began to collect branches and wood dragged by the storm. Mrs. Tomasa brought nails. Don Melquiades offered his tools. Don Ramón, seeing the enthusiasm, offered to reinforce the planks.
But there was still a problem: everyone wanted to do things their own way.
—It has to be high —insisted Don Ramón.
—No, no, better wide —said Don Melquiades.
The children, confused, looked at the grandmother.
“When everyone pulls in their own direction, we don’t move forward,” she said with a smile. “Listen to each other, work together and you will find the best solution.”
The adults remained silent. Even Don Melquiades and Don Ramón nodded.
And that was how the magic happened.
The neighbors stopped arguing and began to listen to each other. The children learned to use the hammer, the strongest ones carried logs, and the women prepared fresh water for the workers.
After several days of effort, the bridge was ready.
The grandmother was the first to cross it. She stopped in the center and, with a big smile, said:
“This is not just a wooden bridge. It is a bridge of friendship and solidarity.”
The children looked at the bridge with pride. It had been built with work, patience and, above all, with unity.
From that day on, every time someone crossed the bridge, they remembered Grandma’s lesson: the strongest and best things are not built with wood, but with minds and hearts that work together.
Uncle Augustine finished his story and saw the children smiling.
—So now you know, children. When you see a big problem, don’t get discouraged. Gather your people, listen to others, and build the bridge to the solution together.
The wind blew through the branches of the mulberry tree, as if it were also applauding that story.
From that day on, Grandma shines like a true pillar of wisdom and unity. 
A Magic Crystal in Danger… The Children and Uncle Augustín Must Protect It! 
Under the starry sky of the orchard, the old Chicago Air Motor windmill slowly turned in the night breeze. For generations, that windmill had hidden a secret that only Uncle Augustine knew: inside it, hidden behind a secret compartment, there was a special crystal that absorbed the light of the stars and reflected it in magical sparkles.
That night, while the children listened to Uncle Augustine tell stories under the mulberry tree, a strange sound was heard in the windmill. Ramiro, the most curious of the group, ran to see what was happening and saw shadows moving between the metal structure.
“Uncle Augustine! Someone is in the windmill!” Ramiro shouted urgently.
Uncle Augustine immediately stood up, adjusting his hat.
“Good heavens! It seems they have come for the crystal,” he murmured with a frown.
The children looked at him in astonishment.
“What crystal, uncle?” asked Anita.
“One that has the brightness of the stars and a special power. It is a very old treasure that has remained hidden so that it does not fall into the wrong hands,” answered Uncle Augustine.
Without wasting time, the group crept up to the mill. Among the shadows, they saw three men dressed in dark cloaks trying to force the wooden gate.
“We must stop them!” whispered Miguel.
“But we are just children…” said Carolina, worried.
Uncle Augustine smiled and crouched down to their height.
“When the stars shine together, they light up even the darkest night. You don’t have to be big or strong to do the right thing. We just have to work as a team.”
The children looked at each other and nodded with determination. Quickly, they came up with a plan: while some threw blackberries to distract the thieves, others loosened the ropes of an old flour sack on top of the mill.
“Now!” shouted Ramiro.
The criminals were covered in white flour and began to cough without being able to see anything. In the midst of the commotion, Uncle Augustine took a whistle out of his pocket and blew it loudly. Immediately, the dogs from the orchard came running and barking, causing the thieves to flee in terror.
When everything calmed down, the children entered the mill and saw the crystal hidden in its secret compartment. Its light shone brighter than ever.
“We did it!” exclaimed Carolina.
Uncle Augustine smiled proudly.
“Because we work together, like the stars in the sky.”
The children nodded, understanding that the true magic of the crystal was not only in its brightness, but in the union and shared effort.
From then on, every night they gathered under the mulberry tree, looking at the mill and remembering that, as long as they were together, nothing and no one could extinguish their light.
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Something Strange Happened in the Enchanted Forest! 
A Children’s Story You Can’t Miss
In the heart of the enchanted forest, where the trees whispered secrets and the brook sang sweet melodies, peace and harmony reigned among the animals and the children. However, one day, a dark shadow appeared between the ancient trunks. His name was Sombrío, a cunning black fox with a piercing gaze and poisonous words.
Sombrío did not attack with claws or fangs, but with lies and rumors. With his honeyed voice, he whispered doubts in the ears of the animals: «The owl thinks he is wiser than everyone,» «The rabbits monopolize the best food,» «The deer do not want to share the clearing.» Soon, mistrust spread like poison ivy, and the joy of the forest began to fade.
The children, who used to play among the trees and learn from the animals, noticed the sadness in the air. It was then that they ran to find Uncle Augustine, the old storyteller who always had a solution for everything.
Sitting under his mulberry tree, Uncle Augustine listened to them attentively and stroked his mustache thoughtfully. «When someone sows discord, you have to pull out the root of the problem without using violence,» he said in his calm voice. «We are going to give back to the forest what Sombrío has stolen from it: trust and friendship.»
With cunning, the children came up with a plan. They organized a big meeting in the clearing and, one by one, each animal shared what they had heard. It was then that they realized that Sombrío had deceived them all. With laughter and hugs, they understood that unity was stronger than any lie.
Sombrío, seeing that his plan was failing, tried to sow more doubts, but no one believed him. Unmasked, the black fox understood that in a forest where truth reigned, his tricks had no power. Without enemies or followers, he left with his tail between his legs.
The forest regained its joy, and the children learned a valuable lesson: words can build or destroy, and when used wisely, they can overcome even the deepest darkness.
Uncle Augustine smiled with satisfaction and, with his sprig of blackberries in his mouth, said: «And so, boys, harmony returned to our beloved enchanted forest.»
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Uncle Augustine and the Magic Blackberries | A Story for Children full of Values and Hope 
In Grandma��s orchard, under the old blackberry tree, Uncle Augustine sat on his bench as the village children gathered around him. It was a special summer night, with the full moon lighting up the sky and the blackberries shining like little stars. Uncle Augustine, with his straight-brimmed hat and his sprig of wheat in his mouth, began to tell a story that he said few knew.
“A long time ago, these magical blackberries not only glowed at night, but they also had a special purpose. Once, when the forest was even denser and the paths were difficult to navigate, a group of children got lost while looking for wild flowers for a festival.”
The children watched him in fascination as he continued. “When night fell, darkness enveloped them and they began to feel afraid. But then, something wonderful happened. The blackberries on the old tree began to break off and float in the air like little lights. They moved slowly, lighting the way and guiding the children back to the orchard, where their families were anxiously waiting for them.”
Uncle Augustine paused, looking at the children with a smile. “And do you know why the blackberries helped them? Because they never gave up. As they walked through the darkness, they stuck together, sang for encouragement, and trusted that they would find their way.”
One of the children asked excitedly, “Can the blackberries still do that, Uncle Augustine?”
Uncle Augustine smiled his classic warm smile. “Only if there is someone with a pure heart who truly needs it. The magical blackberries not only lead the way in the darkness, but they also remind us of the importance of hope and helping each other. When we are lost, physically or emotionally, there is always a light that can guide us. Often, that light is within ourselves.”
The children looked at the tree in wonder, as if they expected the berries to start glowing at that very moment. And even though they didn’t, something special happened: a gentle breeze moved the branches of the tree, as if the tree itself approved of Uncle Augustine’s story.
“And now, boys,” said Uncle Augustine as he stood up, “it’s time for you to go back to your homes. Don’t forget that hope and unity are the brightest lights you can have in your lives.”
With one last look at the berry tree, the children said goodbye, promising to come back soon for another story.
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Uncle Agustín and The Mulberry Tree of Secrets 
| Children’s Educational Story.
In the golden light of dawn, the village children gathered near the black mulberry tree in Grandma’s orchard. It was a magical place, not only for the sweet blackberries it offered, but for the mysterious whispers its branches made when the wind blew. That morning, Uncle Augustine, with his straight-brimmed hat and the wheat straw between his teeth, was waiting for them under the shade of the tree.
“Did you know that this is not an ordinary mulberry tree?” said Uncle Augustine, his soft but firm voice attracting all the children’s attention.
“What’s so special about it?” asked Sofia, a girl with big, curious eyes.
Uncle Augustine leaned toward them, his white mustache shining in the sunlight.
“This tree holds ancient secrets, stories of the guardians of the forest. But it only reveals them to those with a pure heart and who are willing to listen with their soul, not just their ears.
Intrigued, the children sat in a circle around the tree. Uncle Augustine placed his calloused hand on the trunk of the mulberry tree and whispered a few words in a low voice. The leaves began to move gently, even though there was no wind. Suddenly, a soft, melodious voice emerged from the tree.
“Once upon a time, many years ago, there was a guardian named Ramiro, a brave and honest badger,” the voice narrated. The children exchanged excited glances as the story came to life. “Ramiro protected the forest with the help of his friends, a family of fireflies that illuminated the dark paths. One day, a hunter came to the forest with bad intentions. Ramiro, with his cunning and courage, prevented the hunter from causing harm, reminding him that nature is not an enemy, but a home.
“And how did he do it?” interrupted Thomas, his eyes shining with excitement.
Uncle Augustine smiled and pointed to a blackberry that was beginning to glow on the tree.
“Every lesson learned makes a blackberry glow, and so the tree preserves the memories,” he said. “Ramiro showed the hunter the beauty of the forest, from the fireflies dancing in the night to the crystal-clear rivers. When the hunter understood, he left his bow and arrows and left in peace.
The children listened attentively, reflecting on the story. When it was over, the tree whispered again, but this time the leaves seemed to laugh, as if celebrating the connection created between the children and the ancient guardians of the forest.
“Do you think we can also be guardians of the forest, uncle?” asked Andres, with a shining blackberry in his hand.
Uncle Augustine crouched down to their height, his gaze warm and firm.
“Of course, Andres. Being a guardian doesn’t mean being big or strong. It means being honest, caring for others, and protecting what you love, like Ramiro did.”
With a smile, the children promised to take care of the forest and respect its secrets. As they walked away from the tree, a gentle wind blew through the branches, as if to thank them for their commitment.
Uncle Augustine stood up, adjusting his hat and saying goodbye with a friendly gesture.
—Thank you for joining us today. If you liked this story, don’t forget to leave a «Like,» subscribe to the channel, and hit the bell so you don’t miss any of our adventures. See you in the next story, under this magical tree!
And with that last whisper of the wind, the leaves of the tree moved once more, bidding the children farewell with their mysterious dance.