In Nela's grandmother's garden, everything smelled of summer: fresh yeast, wet grass and pears ripening in the sun. Swallows circled above the yellow house, and a cat called Migotek, white in patches, with black ears and a tail like a feather, walked lazily along the fence. Just behind the carrot bed stood an old pear tree. Its trunk was as cracked as Grandma's hands, and on one of the branches hung a small windmill that fluttered whenever the wind blew. Hania was seven and had red knee socks that she thought were lucky. Franek was five, with pockets full of pebbles and questions he couldn't fit in his head. - 'Grandma, and why does that pear tree hum when it's not blowing? - asked Franek, putting his ear to the bark. - Because it listens,' smiled Nela. - And when you listen well, you also respond well. Grandma placed a shiny watering can on the grass. It was silver, with stars, and had a cloud engraved on the handle. - 'This is the Cloud Watering Can,' said Grandma, shaking flour off her apron. - It only waters when one listens to the wind. Try it. Hania and Franek bent over the watering can. They tilted it carefully. Nothing. Not a drop. - 'Maybe it's empty,' muttered Franek. - Ears first - reminded Grandma. - Sit under the pear tree, close your eyes and listen. So they sat down under the thick trunk. Flicker lay down beside them, his tail sweeping across the grass. The sounds of the garden were like a lullaby: the buzzing of a bee, the whirr of a windmill, the quiet tup-tup of sparrows hopping along the path. And then Hania heard something else. A very quiet whisper in the treetops. As if someone was saying: psst, psst.... it's time. - I hear it! - she whispered. - Something is calling me. Franek nodded. - Me too. And as if... tick, tick... - He leaned against the trunk. There really was something ticking inside, like a little watch. Hania grabbed the watering can. This time the stars on its sides sparkled and tiny drops flowed from the spout. They didn't look like ordinary water. They were like tiny lights that danced in the air and smelled of rain in July. They watered the ground under the pear tree. The bark where the drops fell became smooth and darker, as if someone had drawn a spot on it. The spot grew and grew until it became a window. And then the window turned into a tiny door - the kind for a doll's house. They were blue, with a tiny handle and a seed-shaped keyhole. Migotek meowed in surprise and touched the door with his paw. The door made a slight rattling sound, as if it were made of thin metal. - Oh dear," gasped Franek. - Who lives here? - Maybe a squirrel? - pondered Hania, but squirrels are unlikely to have keys. They put their ears to the trunk. Inside, there was another tick, tick, and then a soft - halo.... - so soft that it tickled the neck. - We need to find the key," said Hania. - The hole is like a seed. Maybe the key is a seed too. They looked around at the grass. There were pear leaves, white clover petals and tiny daisies. Nothing that looked like a key. Migotek lifted his tail up and moved towards the strawberry bed. Every now and then he looked back at the children, as if to say: come on. - Let's follow Migotek - decided Franek. The cat led them under the boughs of a pear tree, where the ground was cool and soft. Hania slid her hand between the roots. She felt something smooth, hard. She pulled it out carefully. On her palm lay a pear tree seed. It was not ordinary: it had a tiny hole in the middle, and silver dots on the edges, like drops from the Cloud Clover. - It looked like a key! - Franek jumped up. - Try it! Hania threaded the thin ribbon she had in her hair through the seed so as not to drop it. The seed warmed her fingers pleasantly, as if she was holding a tiny sun. Slowly, very slowly they approached the door. The windmill on the branch stopped furling, as if the whole garden had held its breath. A dog barked in the distance, but its barking sounded far away, as if from behind a curtain. - 'I'm holding and you're putting in,' whispered Franek, taking Hania's hand. Migotek sat down next to her, with eyes like two ambers, and did not blink. The keyhole flashed silver. Hania lifted the seed and touched the edge with it. At the same moment, a quiet sound flowed from the depths of the trunk, like a melody played on glass glasses. The bark around the door took on a warmth. Something inside sighed. Tick, tick, tick.... and then - knock! - Do you hear that? - Franek squeezed Hania's hand tighter. - Someone is knocking! Hania put the seed to the hole. It fit like a glove. She had not yet turned it when the handle vibrated of its own accord, and a ribbon of golden light flashed through the gap that had not been there a moment ago and touched their cheeks like the warm touch of a pear straight from the branch. Knock. Knock. Knock. Three even knocks from inside. The flicker fluttered its ears. The windmill made one short turn and froze. - Ready? - whispered Franek. Hania took a deep breath. The garden was suddenly so quiet that they could hear their hearts. The seed-key glittered in her hand and the door handle moved a second time, harder this time....