A Warm Cup for the River
Once there was a little village by a wide, quick river. The River ran down cold from the snowy mountains. It ran fast and it ran splashy, and it never stopped for anybody.
In the village lived a small boy called Pim. Pim carried everything on his head. He carried buckets and baskets and loaves of bread. Once he carried a cat. The cat did not mind at all, and went to sleep up there.
Pim’s best friend Dot lived on the far side of the River, at the mill by the meadow. Every evening Dot came down to the water and waved. She waved with both arms, so hard that she hopped.
Pim waved back. Dot shouted something, but the River was so splashy that all Pim heard was “DOW!”
All summer Pim had wanted to cross over and play with Dot in the meadow before supper.
So one evening Pim knelt on the bank and laid his hand flat on the water. That is the only way to make the River talk.
“Excuse me, River,” said Pim. “Please may I come across?”
Under his hand the water went smooth and slow. Then the River spoke, in a voice like water poured from a jug, glug-a-lug-a-lug.
“Good evening, Pim,” said the River. “I am too quick for you. But I will make you a bargain. Bring me one thing I have never felt before, and I will lift my stones for you every evening, for always.”
Just under the water lay a row of flat stones, all the way across, waiting.
“Thank you,” said Pim. “I will.”
The next evening Pim found a duck feather. He carried it down to the River on his head.
He laid his hand flat on the water.
“What have you brought me, Pim?” said the River.
“A duck feather,” said Pim, and he let it go.
“Thank you, Pim,” said the River. “But I have felt that before. I have felt a thousand feathers.”
On the far bank, Dot waved with both arms and hopped. “DOW!” she shouted.
The next evening Pim made a little wooden boat with a paper sail. He carried it down to the River on his head.
He laid his hand flat on the water.
“What have you brought me, Pim?” said the River.
“A boat,” said Pim, and he set it bobbing.
“Thank you, Pim,” said the River. “But I have felt that before. I have carried a hundred boats. I have felt almost everything. Look.”
The water under Pim’s hand went clear as glass. Along the bottom lay a long, shiny line of buttons. Red ones, then yellow ones, then green ones, then blue.
“Every button anyone ever dropped in me,” said the River. “Sorted by colour.”
“They are very tidy,” said Pim.
He walked home, thinking hard.
At bedtime Mom brought him warm milk in his best cup, the chipped one with a hen on the side. Pim held it in both hands. It was warm all the way through his fingers.
Out of the window, the mountains were white on top, even in summer.
“The River comes from the snow,” said Pim. “It has always been cold. I don’t think it has ever felt warm. Not once.”
The next evening Pim dipped the hen cup in the River and carried it home on his head. Mom warmed it on the stove.
“Warm, not hot,” said Mom. “Like a bath.”
Then Pim carried the hen cup down the lane on his head, slow and steady. He did not spill a single drop.
He laid his hand flat on the water.
“What have you brought me, Pim?” said the River.
“Something warm,” said Pim. He tipped the hen cup, and the warm water poured in.
The River shivered all over, the happy kind of shiver.
“Oh!” said the River. “Oh, oh, oh! So that is warm! I have never felt that before!”
Then the River slowed down, and the splashing went quiet. Up came a flat stone, bloop. Up came another, bloop. One, two, three, all the way across, right to Dot’s feet.
Pim stepped from stone to stone. Below him the buttons shone, red and yellow and green and blue. At the other end Dot was hopping, hop, hop, hop.
“You came!” said Dot. “I’ve been shouting MEADOW at you all summer!”
“I heard the DOW,” said Pim.
Pim carried Dot’s hat and three acorns on his head. Dot tried to carry one pebble on hers. It fell off every time, and they laughed until they had to lie down in the grass.
They played until the sky went pink. Then Pim walked home across the stones and laid his hand on the water.
“Thank you, River,” said Pim. “Tomorrow I will bring you another warm cup.”
“You have kept your side already,” said the River.
“I know,” said Pim. “But you liked it.”
“I did,” said the River, and it shivered again, just a little.
Behind Pim the stones sank down softly, plip, plip, plip, to wait for tomorrow.
That night Mom tucked Pim in. Across the River, the last lamp in the mill went out, because Dot was in bed too.
The River ran along under the moon, a little warmer than before, singing glug-a-lug to itself.
Tomorrow Pim would cross it again, and the evening after that, and every evening for always. But now he was fast asleep.
