Bumps McGee was a very good boy. Everyone said so, and it was quite true. He was polite, and reasonably quiet. He didn’t break his toys, or squeeze the neighbor’s cat.

But I must tell you, Bumps McGee had a peculiarity that led up to THE DAY OF HIS GREAT CATASTROPHE – he loved raisins.

I mean he LOVED raisins. Bumps McGee ate raisins out of the box. He put raisins on his peanut butter sandwich, and in his mashed potatoes. He would have even put raisins on his pizza if he had been allowed to.

On THE DAY OF HIS GREAT CATASTROPHE, Bumps McGee was going about as he usually did. The sun was shining, the flowers were blooming, and the birds were chirping. It was just the same as any old day.

A squirrel had chewed a hole in Bumps McGee’s tree fort, so he was scouting the neighborhood for old pieces of board to patch it up. Which explains why he was in Mrs. Smith’s back yard on this particular day.

Bumps McGee was busy looking over some pieces of fence board Mr. Smith had piled up to be thrown out, when the most wonderful smell drifted across the back yard. Bumps looked up to see where the yummy smell was coming from.

Mrs. Smith had just taken a pie out of the oven, and placed it on the open window sill to cool. Bumps McGee could see the curling steam rising from the hot pie.

He thought, as he leaned forward and sniffed, “I wonder what kind of pie it is? It sure smells good.” Now, everything would have been all right if Bumps McGee had just gone home at this point. But he didn’t.

Bumps McGee walked closer and closer to that pie. He had to get a look at it to see what kind of pie could ever smell that good. Well before long Bumps had his nose right up against the window sill. He inched his head up past the window ledge until he could see into the kitchen. Mrs. Smith was at the stove with her back to the window.

So Bumps McGee raised his head up a little higher, until he could see the top of the lattice work pie crust.


Bumps McGee popped down and sat on the ground with his back to the wall. He could hardly breathe. It was a beautiful, mouth-watering, flaky crust, syrupy center, hot raisin pie. If only it had been an apple pie, or a cherry pie, or at least a banana cream pie he would have been safe, but no, it was a raisin pie.

At this point, Bumps McGee would admit latter, he could not help himself. He knew he should go home, and forget about the magnificent pie sitting untended on the window ledge just above him. But he couldn’t, and he didn’t.

1,000 Words
Flesch Reading Ease 88.3
Flesch-Kincaid Grade level 4.2