The Tree House

The little boy stood staring up at the tree.

One of his friends came along and saw him there.
“A treehouse,” the little boy said.
“That’s no treehouse,” the boy replied.
And he walked away.

The little boy went to his father’s shed. He found an old rusted hammer and a coffee can half full of nails.
Another neighborhood kid stopped by.
“What’s all that junk doing there?”

“It’s going to be my treehouse,” the little boy said.

“Looks like a pile of junk to me.”
The little boy just grinned. The neighborhood kid walked away.

He built the ladder. Then he got the beginnings of a floor in and one wall up.

His little sister came by.
“What are you doing?”

“Working on my treehouse,” he said.

“That’s no treehouse. There’s no roof and you’re missing walls.”

She skipped off.
He kept hammering.
Another little boy came down the street and stopped.
“Wow,” he said. “This is a cool treehouse.”

“Ain’t it?” the little boy said.

“Can I help?”

“Please.”
Together they got the roof on and put on the finishing touches. Then they sat up there a while and ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Before long the first little boy, the neighborhood kid, and the sister climbed up the ladder and sat with them in the treehouse. They laughed and had a good time.

The neighborhood kid said, “I love our treehouse.”

The little boy looked at all four of them and grinned once again.

“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

Let the reader understand.