How to Put Grandpa to Bed

Grandma had gone to stay at her sister’s for one night. Before she went, she left a letter under the sugar bowl.

Nell found it after supper. She unfolded it very slowly, because it looked important. At the top, in Grandma’s loopy writing, it said:

How to Put Grandpa to Bed. Serves: one Grandpa.

Nell loved being in charge of things. At home she was in charge of the bath plug and the porch light. Once, for a whole afternoon, she had been in charge of next door’s goldfish. Tonight she was in charge of Grandpa.

“Sit up straight, please,” said Nell. “This is from Grandma.”

Grandpa sat up very straight in his big armchair. Down on the rug, his two brown slippers sat up straight too.

In Grandma and Grandpa’s crooked little house, the slippers knew their own way to bed. When bedtime came, they went pitter-pat, pitter-pat, all by themselves, to wherever they were needed. Right now they were waiting by Grandpa’s chair with their toes pointed at the door.

Nell wanted to do every step exactly the way Grandma did it. Then tomorrow she could tell Grandma she had done it right.

She read in her most serious voice.

“One. Grandpa will say he is not tired. He is.”

“I am not tired,” said Grandpa. Then he yawned. It was such a big yawn that Nell could see his back teeth.

“Grandma says you are,” said Nell.

“Grandma is at her sister’s,” said Grandpa.

Nell tapped the letter. Grandpa sat up straight again.

“Two,” read Nell. “Cocoa with ONE marshmallow. It must be the pink one.”

Grandpa warmed the milk, and Nell stirred in the cocoa. Then she opened the marshmallow jar.

White. White. White. White. Every single marshmallow in the jar was white. Nell tipped it upside down to look at the bottom. Still white.

“Well,” said Grandpa, looking pleased. “That settles it. No pink marshmallow, no bed. I shall stay up all night and count the spoons. I am not tired.”

He yawned again, so wide that his glasses slid down his nose.

Nell held the letter tight. She did not want to get it wrong at only number two. She read the next line, in case Grandma had thought of this.

“Three. The slippers know the way. Let them.”

Nell and Grandpa looked down. The slippers gave a little hop. Then off they went, pitter-pat, pitter-pat, across the kitchen floor.

“Bedroom’s the other way,” said Grandpa.

The slippers did not go to the bedroom. They went to the tall cupboard by the stove. They stopped right underneath it and tapped their toes.

Grandpa held a chair steady, and Nell climbed up. On the high shelf there was a bag of flour, a tin of buttons, and a big jar of plum jam. Nell thought hard. At home, Mom kept the best cookies at the back. So Nell moved the jam.

Behind it, all by itself on a saucer, sat one pink marshmallow. Next to it was a tiny note: For emergencies.

“Your grandma thinks of everything,” said Grandpa.

Ploop went the pink marshmallow into the cocoa. Grandpa drank it all, right down to the last sweet pink sip. He wiped his mustache.

“I am not tired,” said Grandpa. Then he yawned a yawn so long that Nell counted it. One, two, three, four, five.

Grandpa put his feet into his slippers, and the slippers walked him to bed. Pitter-pat, pitter-pat, along the crooked hall, up the three crooked steps, and all the way to the side of his bed.

“I could have found it myself,” said Grandpa.

“The letter says let them,” said Nell.

Grandpa stepped out of his slippers and climbed in. Nell tucked the blanket up to his chin, nice and tight, the way her mom did for her. Then she fetched the walrus book from the shelf. It was about a walrus called Wilfred, who wanted a bath but was too big for every tub in town.

On page three, Grandpa shut his eyes. On page four, he said “Snore” out loud. On page five, he opened one eye to see if she had stopped.

Nell checked the letter.

“Four. He will pretend to be asleep before the end. Read to the end anyway.”

So Nell did. She read about Wilfred in the bathtub, which was too small. She read about Wilfred in the duck pond, which was too muddy. She read the very last page, where Wilfred found a bath big enough at last. It was the sea.

By then Grandpa’s one eye was shut, and he was snoring for real. Hrrrm-pff. Hrrrm-pff.

“Goodnight, Grandpa,” said Nell, very softly.

Beside Grandpa’s bed, the two brown slippers turned around. Pitter-pat, pitter-pat, out of Grandpa’s room and down the hall they went. Nell followed them all the way to her own little room under the roof. The slippers stopped beside her bed and waited.

Nell looked at the letter one more time. At the very bottom, in very small writing, there was one more line.

Five. Then the slippers will take you to bed too. Let them. Love, Grandma.

“I am not tired,” said Nell. Then she yawned the biggest yawn of the whole night.

She climbed into bed and pulled up the covers. She tucked the letter under her pillow, to show Grandma in the morning. Every step, one to five, done exactly right.

Down the hall, Grandpa went hrrrm-pff, slow and soft. Nell’s eyes closed. Now there was nobody left in the crooked little house to put to bed. So the slippers sat side by side on the rug, and they did not go pitter-pat again until morning.