Dot and the Full Stop
In the small town of Comma-on-Sea, the days did not end by themselves. Each day went on and on and on, until somebody put a full stop at the end of it.
That somebody was Dot.
Dot was very small for such a big job. She was the Keeper of the Full Stop. The full stop was a round black pebble, as big as a plum and as warm as toast. Dot kept it in the left pocket of her apron. In the right pocket she kept a potato, because you never know.
All day long, Dot patted her left pocket. Pat, pat. Still there. Pat, pat. Still there.
Every evening, Dot carried the full stop up the hill and set it down on the very top. Then the sun went down into the sea. Everybody finished what they were saying. And the whole town went to bed.
That afternoon, Dot leaned over the hen yard fence to say hello to Hetty. Hetty was a hen who sat on anything round. She was sure that everything round was an egg. Today she was sitting on an apple.
“It’s nearly hatched,” said Hetty.
“Lovely,” said Dot.
Something went plop in the straw. Dot did not hear it. She was looking at the apple.
When evening came, Dot set off for the hill. She patted her pocket. Pat, pat.
Nothing.
She patted it again. She turned it inside out. There was nothing in it but fluff.
“Oh dear,” said Dot.
Down by the water, the sun gave an enormous yawn. It was time for the sun to set. But there was no full stop on the hill, so the day could not end. The sun just sat there, a little way above the sea, like a cat that will not get off a chair.
All over Comma-on-Sea, people opened their mouths to say goodnight. What came out was “And then, and then, and then.”
First Dot looked in the bakery, where she had bought a bun that morning.
The baker was leaning on his counter with flour on his nose. He was telling nobody in particular about bread.
“Have you seen my full stop?” said Dot.
“First you put in the flour,” said the baker, “and then you put in the water, and then you squish it, and then you squash it, and then, and then, and then.” He gave a big floury yawn. But he could not stop.
Dot looked under the counter. She looked in the flour bin. She looked inside a very big loaf, but only a little bit. There was no full stop anywhere.
Next Dot looked on the beach, where she had paddled after lunch.
The fishermen were sitting in their boats by the shore. Every evening they counted the fish in the bay, to make sure none had swum away. Tonight they could not get to the end.
“And a hundred and four,” said the fishermen, “and a hundred and five, and a hundred and six, and a hundred and seven.”
Dot looked in the boats. She looked under the nets. The beach was covered in round pebbles, grey ones and white ones and stripy ones. Dot picked up every one she could reach. They were all as cold as the sea. Not one of them was as warm as toast.
“Thank you,” said Dot to the fishermen. But it came out, “Thank you, and thank you, and thank you, and.”
Dot put her hand over her mouth. Then she yawned behind it. The long, long day was getting into her too.
Dot trudged back up the lane, past the hen yard.
Hetty was sitting very tall and very proud. The apple was rolling about on its own in the grass. Hetty was sitting on something new. It was very round and very black, and Hetty was being very patient with it.
“And it’s ever so warm,” said Hetty, “and it’s ever so round, and it’s taking ever so long, and, and, and.”
Dot leaned over the fence. Very gently, she lifted one of Hetty’s feathers. Underneath was a round black pebble, as warm as toast.
Dot did not want Hetty to be sad. So she reached into her right pocket and brought out the potato. You never know when you might need one.
Hetty looked at the potato. It was round. It was lumpy. It was much bigger than a pebble. To Hetty, it was the finest egg in the whole wide world.
Dot set the potato down in the straw. Hetty hopped off the full stop and onto the potato. She fluffed up her feathers. She looked even happier than before.
“And it’s a big one,” said Hetty, “and, and, and.”
Dot picked up the full stop and put it in her pocket. Pat, pat. Still there.
Then Dot walked up the lane, past the last gate, and up the long hill to the very top.
She set the full stop down in the grass. It made a very small sound.
Dot.
And everything stopped, gently.
The sun gave one last yawn. Then the sun slipped down into the sea, like a cat getting off a chair at last.
In the bakery, the baker said, “And then you eat it.” He blinked. He smiled. “There,” said the baker. “I’m glad that’s finished.”
On the beach, the fishermen said, “And three hundred and three. That’s all of them.” They climbed out of their boats and went home to bed.
In the hen yard, Hetty settled down on her potato and tucked her head under her wing.
Dot walked home down the hill. There were lamps in the windows and a moon over the sea. Mom was waiting at the door. She hung up Dot’s apron, and she tucked Dot into bed.
“What did you do today?” said Mom.
Dot thought about the bakery, and the beach, and Hetty, and the potato. She gave an enormous yawn, just like the sun.
“Lots,” said Dot.
“And then?” said Mom.
Dot smiled with her eyes shut. “The end of the day,” said Dot.
Mom kissed her on the nose and turned out the lamp. Up on the hill, the full stop sat in the grass, as warm as toast. In the hen yard, Hetty slept on her potato. And in her own warm bed, Dot was fast asleep, right at the end of the day.