"BRRRRRRRRRING!" screamed Peter’s alarm clock.

"TURN THAT THING OFF!" screamed Peter’s dad.

Peter sprang out of bed and hit the OFF switch. It was 7 o’clock on Saturday morning, and Peter had a busy day ahead of him. "No time to waste," he said as he slipped off his pajamas and pulled on shorts and a tee shirt. "Gotta get going," he mumbled as he rummaged through his sock drawer for a matching pair. "Don’t dilly-dally," he told himself as he struggled to untie yesterday’s triple-knot in his shoelace.

Thump-thump! Thump-thump! Thump-thump! Peter came skipping down the stairs and into the kitchen. Mum was in her dressing gown, making coffee.

"Shhhh!" she said with her finger over her lips. "Dad’s still in bed."

"Good morning, mum," said Peter cheerfully, "I think I’ll skip breakfast this morning."

"Oh no you won’t," replied mum.

"But I’m in a hurry," Peter pleaded.

Mum smiled a little. "If you don’t have breakfast, you won’t make it to wherever you’re going. I’ll make you some toast. It won’t take a minute."

Peter sat down at the table and poured a little pile of salt onto his placemat. He flattened it out, and made it into a map of Australia. Then he blew it onto the floor.

"Here’s your toast," mum announced as she placed it in front of him. "I hope the vegemite’s not too thick."

"It’s fine thanks mum," said Peter, as he began to fill his mouth with bite after bite.

"Steady on!" mum laughed. "Where are you off to, anyway?"

Peter tried to answer her, but his cheeks were bulging so much that he didn’t dare open his mouth in case everything came pouring out again. Instead, he just pointed to the door.

"Don’t you be getting into any mischief," mum cautioned, "and don’t come home with your pockets full of useless junk."

Peter had managed to swallow some of his breakfast by now. "Ith nop junk!" he said.

Mum patted him on the head. "Well, junk or no junk, I don’t want any nasty surprises in your pockets when I go to wash your pants!"

Peter swallowed hard to finish the last lump of breakfast, and kissed his mum on the cheek.

"Bye mum," he grinned, "I’ll be home for lunch."

With that, Peter went skipping off down the street, whistling as he went, his eyes scanning the footpath for anything that might take his fancy. He caught sight of something small and thin. Stooping down to pick it up, he saw that it was a matchstick. The head had already been burnt, but with a shrug of his shoulders, Peter stuffed it into his pocket. "It might come in handy," he told himself. And he was off again, skipping, whistling, and scanning the ground for useful items.

Something metal caught his eye in the bright sunlight, and he stopped abruptly. It was a shiny 20-cent piece, which had fallen down one of the cracks in the pavement. He tried to retrieve it, but his fingers were far too big to fit into the crack. Then he remembered the matchstick. Fishing it out of his pocket, he pushed it into the crack and under the silver coin. With a little flick of the match, the 20-cent piece jumped out of its hiding place and onto the concrete path. Smiling with satisfaction, Peter picked it up and placed it into his pocket. But alas, the strain of the task had been too much for the little matchstick, which had broken in two. Peter threw it into a nearby bin, and continued merrily on his way.

Not too much farther on, another glint of sunlight caught his attention. Another coin, he thought. Upon closer inspection, the object turned out to be nothing more than a piece of broken glass, about the size of a bottle-top. Peter touched it gingerly, making sure that it wasn’t too sharp, and then picked it up and held it for a moment.

"Hmmm," he thought aloud, "I’d better not put this in my pocket. It would cut a hole."

Then he remembered the blue handkerchief his mum made him take whenever he went out. Removing it from his pocket, he carefully wrapped the piece of green glass. Amazed at his own brilliance, Peter put the little blue parcel into his pocket with the 20-cent piece, and off he went again.

It wasn’t long before something else caught Peter’s eye. It was small and rectangular, and on top was a picture of a woman with bright red hair. Seeing that it was an empty matchbox - an item with 101 uses - Peter scooped it up gleefully and shoved it into his pocket.

By now, Peter had reached the corner store. Strolling merrily inside, he began to look around for something he could buy for 20 cents.

"Can I help you?" asked the polite old man behind the counter.

"What can I get for 20 cents?" Peter inquired.

"Well, I can give you a couple of sticks of licorice. Or there’s these giant bubblegum balls," said the shopkeeper, pointing to a bowl of enormous brightly-coloured spheres. "They’re normally a bit more than 20 cents, but I’m feeling generous today," he added with a wink.

Peter grinned. "Okay, I’ll take a yellow one please."

The kindly shopkeeper selected one from the top of the bowl, slipped it into a little white paper bag, and handed it to Peter. "That will be two bob, thank you," he said.

Peter had heard his granddad call 20 cents "two bob" before. He rummaged in his pocket, and finally produced the shiny silver coin. He placed it in the man’s outstretched hand.

"Thank you very much," the old man said with a broad smile.

"Thank you," replied Peter cheerfully as he skipped out of the shop. He heard the coin drop into the cash register behind him.

He had not gone much farther before the gum was in his mouth. It really was quite big, easily filling one whole cheek. Peter chewed and chewed and CHEWED as he skipped along. Of course, he knew better than to attempt to whistle with such an enormous piece of gum in his mouth. Instead, he hummed one of his favorite tunes as loudly as he possibly could.

Suddenly, he stopped. He had spotted a piece of white string lying on the edge of the road. He had never found a piece of string before, so this was a real treasure. He stooped to pick it up, and examined it carefully. Yes, this was indeed a piece of string, and it appeared to be in pretty good condition. Marveling at such a lucky find, Peter scrunched it up and put it into his pocket.

A few skips farther on, Peter almost ran headlong into Andrew, his best mate. One of Andrew’s hands was closed, and he appeared to be holding something very carefully.

"Hey, Peter," greeted Andrew.

"G’day, Andrew," responded Peter, "what have you got in your hand?"

Andrew opened his hand carefully long enough for Peter to catch a glimpse of its contents, and then closed it again.

"A clicking beetle!" Peter exclaimed enviously.

"Yeah," agreed Andrew, "I found it early this morning. I can’t find anything to put it in, so I’ve had it in my hand for ages."

With a knowing grin, Peter reached into his pocket and produced the empty matchbox. "Will this do?" he asked.

Andrew’s face lit up. "Perfect!" he pronounced. "Can I have it?"

"If you use your manners," answered Peter.

"Please may I have it PLEASE?"

Peter handed it over, and Andrew carefully tipped the little black insect inside. They both listened as the beetle clicked around inside its new home. "I’m going to call him Oscar," proclaimed Andrew.

"Oscar’s good," agreed Peter. "I have to go now, Andrew. I promised mum I’d be home for lunch."

"Have you got bubblegum?" asked Andrew after him.

"Yeah," Peter replied as he disappeared around the corner.

A little farther on, Peter came across a little boy with bare feet. He was standing in a driveway, crying. Peter stopped.

"What’s wrong?" he asked.

"My yo-yo is broken," replied the little boy, as if it was obvious.

"Broken?" Peter retorted. "What’s wrong with it?"

"The string snapped," answered the boy.

"I have some string," said Peter, fishing around in his pocket. "Give the yo-yo to me."

The boy handed it to Peter, who tied his prized possession firmly to the centre of it. Then he wound it up, and handed it back. The boy tried it out, but the yo-yo hit the ground.

"It’s no good," he sobbed, "this string’s too long!"

"Then we’ll cut it," said Peter, retrieving the piece of glass from his pocket. Being very careful not to cut himself, he cut the string in half.

"Try that," he said. The boy did, and it was just right. Peter handed him the leftover piece of string.

"Here’s a spare one. If the other one breaks, get your dad to put this one on," he smiled.

"Thank you very much," said the little chap, bouncing his yo-yo up and down.

Peter was already skipping away. "No worries," he called back.

Not too many skips later, Peter arrived at the duck pond. Some of the boys from school were having a stone-skimming competition, which they often did on Saturday mornings. Peter skipped over to them.

"Who’s winning?" he asked Jeffrey, who was the tallest kid in Peter’s class.

"I am," replied Jeffrey, adding proudly: "Seven skips!"

"Seven? Wow!" Peter admired. "Mind if I join in?"

"Sure," Jeffrey agreed, "but there aren’t too many flat stones left."

"It’s all right, I brought one," said Peter, remembering the nice flat piece of green glass in his pocket. Fishing it out, he crouched down low and prepared to throw it along the surface of the water.

"1..2..3..4..5..6..7..8..9..10!!!" the boys all counted together, their voices getting louder and louder. Jeffrey’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"I guess you win, Peter," said Jeffrey at last. "That was the best skim I’ve ever seen."

"Thanks, Jeffrey," Peter grinned. "I’ve gotta go now."

"Bye, Peter," called all the boys after him.

"Seeya," Peter waved as he skipped off.

By now it was almost lunchtime, and Peter was nearly all the way around the block and back home. Between him and home, there was a lady standing beside a little red car, scratching her head.

"Have you lost something?" asked Peter.

"No ... well, kind of," replied the lady. "You see, my numberplate has fallen off. I can’t really drive around without a numberplate."

"I think I saw it just back there," Peter said, pointing down the street. "I’ll get it for you."

He skipped back the way he had come, and was back in a few minutes holding the numberplate.

"Thank you very much, young man," said the woman as she took it from Peter.

"All the screws are missing."

"I know. How do you suppose I’ll put it back on?"

Peter had an idea. Taking the wad of sticky yellow bubblegum from his mouth, he offered it to the lady. She looked at it for a moment, and then handed Peter the numberplate back. "Would you do it for me, please?"

"Sure," agreed Peter, "the bubblegum had no flavors left anyway."

Breaking the gum into four equal portions, he stuck one piece to each corner of the back of the numberplate. Walking over to the car, he carefully placed it back where it belonged. It stuck fast, and Peter stepped back with a satisfied grin.

"Thank you ever so much," said the lady.

"That’s okay," said Peter, "just don’t drive home too fast."

The lady waved as she drove off, and Peter skipped up his driveway and into the house.

"Mum, I’m home," he called.

"Good," came mum’s voice from the kitchen, "lunch is nearly ready."

Peter washed his hands, and sat down at the table. Mum brought him a plate of sandwiches.

"Let me see what’s in your pockets," she said.

"Nothing at all," replied Peter, turning them out so she could see.

"Good boy," said mum, sounding surprised. "You didn’t go collecting useless stuff, like you normally do."

Peter smiled as he began to devour his lunch. He thought of the matchstick that got the coin out of the crack; the coin that bought him the bubblegum which fixed the numberplate on the little red car; the empty matchbox that had become a home for Andrew’s clicking beetle; the piece of string that fixed the boy’s yo-yo; and the piece of glass that cut the string and helped him to win the skimming contest.

"No, mum," he said with a cheeky grin and a cheek full of sandwich, "today I went collecting useful stuff!"

The End

South Australian-born Alexander S. Foxhall began moonlighting as a children's author in 1996, while serving as an officer in the Royal Australian Air Force. Resigning from the RAAF in 2002 to pursue a career as a writer and publisher, Alex spends much of his time traveling to local schools promoting a love of reading in children - a cause about which he is passionate. He lives in the small town of Peranga, on Queensland's Darling Downs, with his wife, Karen, and seven young children.

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