Bo Gives Away Her Yawn
In the town of Pillowby, everybody keeps a yawn under their pillow.
A Pillowby yawn is round and warm, about the size of a plum, and it smells a little bit of toast. At bedtime, everybody takes theirs out, opens wide and goes Hoooo-um. Then they are asleep.
Every night, Bo lifted her pillow to check that her yawn was still there. Every night, it was. Tonight it was there too, and Bo gave it a pat.
“Good,” said Bo.
Then, from down in the kitchen, came a noise.
Wheeeeeee!
That was Kettle. All day long, Kettle was a very good kettle. But at bedtime, Kettle could not stop whistling.
Bo went down the stairs in her socks. Kettle was sitting on the stove with the lid going jiggle-jiggle-jiggle. The stove was not even on.
“Wheeee!” said Kettle. “Sorry, Bo! Wheeee! So sorry! I can’t stop!”
“Have you tried a drink of water?” said Bo.
“I’m full of water,” said Kettle. “Wheeee! That’s the trouble!”
Bo was a girl who did the kind thing first and the thinking second. So up the stairs she ran, and took her yawn from under her pillow, and down the stairs she ran again. She lifted Kettle’s lid and popped the yawn inside.
Kettle went very still. Then Kettle opened wide, and out of the spout came a great big steamy Hoooooo-um.
And the kitchen was quiet.
“Oh,” said Kettle. “Oh, that’s lovely. Thank you, Bo.”
“You’re welcome,” said Bo, and she went back up to bed.
Halfway up the stairs, the thinking caught up with her. Her yawn was in the kettle. And without a yawn, nobody in Pillowby can get to sleep. Not one wink.
Now, Pillowby has a rule. A yawn that is given away always comes back to the one who gave it. It just takes the long way round. Bo knew the rule, of course. But her thinking was slow tonight, and it had not got that far yet.
Now the kitchen was so quiet that Kettle could hear the town clock across the square.
Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick!
The clock was ticking far too fast. Nobody had noticed, because of all the whistling. It was in such a hurry that it had nearly got to tomorrow.
“That poor clock,” said Kettle.
Inside Kettle, the yawn had grown as big as an apple. Kettle gave one small puff. Up went the lid, and out went the yawn, through the window and across the square, right up to the clock.
The clock caught the yawn between the big hand and the little hand. Then the clock opened wide.
Hoooooooo-um.
The tick-tick-tick got slower, and slower, until there was only one sleepy tock.
Now the yawn was as big as a teapot. The clock let go, and down it dropped, bump, and away it rolled, down the lane to the field at the edge of town.
Up in her bed, Bo was wide awake. Her eyes were awake. Her ears were awake. Even her toes were awake, and wiggling.
She tried a cup of warm milk. She drank it all, right to the bottom, and got a milk moustache. She was still wide awake.
She tried counting backwards. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one,” said Bo. Then, before she could stop herself, she said, “Blast off!”
That did not help at all.
In Pillowby, the sheep count the children, not the other way round. Every night the children jump over the fence in the field on their way to sleep, and Woolly the sheep counts them.
Woolly always loses count at Bo. Bo stops on top of the fence every night to scratch Woolly’s ear and say goodnight, and the number falls right out of Woolly’s head.
Tonight Woolly had counted to forty-two. Then Woolly waited for Bo.
“Forty-two,” said Woolly. “Forty-two. Forty-two. Forty-what? Oh dear. Where was I?”
So Woolly had lost count at Bo again, and Bo was not even there.
Just then, the yawn rolled down the lane to Woolly’s feet. Woolly sniffed it. It smelled of toast.
Woolly opened very wide.
Hoooooooooooo-um!
It was the biggest yawn yet. It made the whole fence wobble.
And then, because of the rule, the yawn went home. It rolled back up the lane, across the square, past the clock, past Kettle’s window, and in at Bo’s window. And it tucked itself under her pillow.
Bo felt something warm. She lifted her pillow to check.
There it was. Her own yawn, round and warm, smelling a little bit of toast. But now it was as big as a loaf of bread.
“You came back,” said Bo. “I missed you.” Then her thinking got to the end at last. “Of course you came back,” she said. “That’s the rule.”
It had been to Kettle and to the clock and to Woolly, and it had room in it for all of them.
Bo held it close. She opened wide.
Hoooooooooooooooooo-um.
It was the biggest yawn in Pillowby, and the softest.
Down in the kitchen, Kettle yawned too. Over in the square, the clock went one slow tock. Out in the field, Woolly yawned and yawned. And in every house in Pillowby, the grown-ups yawned, one after another, all down the street.
And Bo was already on her way.
Over Woolly’s fence she went, as light as a puff of steam. She stopped on the top to scratch Woolly’s ear.
“Goodnight, Woolly,” said Bo. “Thank you.”
“Forty-three,” said Woolly, very slowly. “Bo. That’s everybody.”
Then Woolly lay down in the soft grass and went to sleep. So did Kettle. So did the clock. So did the whole town of Pillowby, with a warm round yawn under every pillow, and the biggest one of all under Bo’s.