Ellie the Honest Elephant

At the edge of a sparkling waterhole lived a young elephant called Ellie. She had wrinkly grey knees, ears as big as umbrellas and a trunk that was very good at squirting water — sometimes a little too good.

One hot afternoon, Grandma Elephant was resting under the baobab tree. Beside her stood the herd’s favourite thing: a tall pile of ripe marula fruit that everyone had gathered together for the evening feast.

Ellie wanted to practise her biggest squirt ever. She filled her trunk, took a deep breath and — WHOOSH! The water shot so far that it knocked the whole pile over. Marula fruit rolled into the mud, down the bank and splash, into the waterhole.

Ellie’s heart thumped. Nobody had seen. Her cousin Tembo was splashing at the other end of the water, and a family of warthogs was trotting past. “Maybe they will think it was the warthogs,” whispered a small voice in her head.

When the herd came back, Grandma looked at the empty spot and the muddy fruit. “Oh dear,” she said softly. “Who could have done this?” The warthogs looked at each other nervously. Tembo shrugged.

Ellie’s ears drooped. She thought about the warthogs getting the blame. She thought about Grandma’s kind eyes. Telling the truth felt as heavy as a mountain, but keeping the secret felt even heavier.

She stepped forward. “It was me, Grandma,” she said in a tiny voice. “I was practising squirting and I knocked the pile over. I’m sorry.”

Grandma was quiet for a moment, then curled her trunk gently around Ellie. “Thank you for telling me,” she said. “Accidents happen. Being honest when it is hard is one of the bravest things an elephant can do.”

Then Grandma smiled. “Now, shall we see how good that trunk is at fishing fruit out of the water?” Ellie laughed, and together the whole herd waded in. By sunset the pile was back, a little muddy but even taller than before — and Ellie felt lighter than a feather.