Mr. Plump Warms the Slippers

In Sam’s room there was a round rug, and a bed with a bottom drawer that went eeek whenever anyone touched it.

Sam had rabbit slippers with floppy ears. Every night he kicked them off higgledy-piggledy. One went under the bed. One landed upside down on the rug.

And every morning, there they were, side by side, with their toes pointing at the bed.

“So my feet know which way to go,” said Sam.

He slid his feet in. The slippers were warm. Toasty warm, right up to the tips of the rabbit ears.

Somebody was doing this for him. Somebody kind. Sam wanted to stay awake and see who it was, so he could say thank you. But Sam always fell asleep first.

Sam also had Mr. Plump. Mr. Plump was a hot water bottle in a knitted pig coat, with one ear longer than the other. Every night Mom filled him with warm water, and Sam took him to bed for a cuddle. When Sam squeezed him, Mr. Plump said, “Glub.” That was all he ever said.

* * *

On the first night, Mom tucked Sam in.

“Mom, is it you who warms my slippers?” said Sam.

“Not me,” said Mom, and she yawned an enormous yawn.

“Glub,” said Mr. Plump, from under the covers.

Sam had a plan. He would stay awake by counting. Then he would see whoever came.

“One,” said Sam. “Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.”

By seven, he was fast asleep.

In the morning, the slippers were side by side, toes pointing at the bed, toasty warm. And across the rug, from the bed to the slippers, went a trail of little round damp spots, like stepping stones.

Sam hopped along them. Hop, hop, hop.

“Who made these?” said Sam.

Down at the bottom of the bed lay Mr. Plump. He was a little flatter than last night, and a little cooler. But Sam did not notice. He was too busy wiggling his warm toes.

* * *

On the second night, Dad tucked Sam in. Dad had his toothbrush in his mouth.

“Dad, is it you who warms my slippers?” said Sam.

“Not me,” said Dad, all foamy.

“Glub,” said Mr. Plump, from under the covers.

This time Sam had a better plan. He would sleep with one eye and watch with the other.

He shut his left eye. He kept his right eye open. It looked at the slippers. It looked at the rug. It looked at the moon in the window. But that eye got tired of doing all the work by itself, so it closed too.

In the morning, the slippers were side by side, toes pointing at the bed, toasty warm. The little round damp spots went across the rug like stepping stones. And Mr. Plump was at the bottom of the bed again, flat and floppy.

Sam picked him up.

“Brr, you’re cold, Mr. Plump,” said Sam.

“Glub,” said Mr. Plump.

Sam still did not know who it was.

* * *

On the third night, Mom and Dad both came to tuck Sam in.

“Is it you?” said Sam. “Either of you?”

“Not me,” said Mom, with a yawn.

“Not me,” said Dad.

“Glub,” said Mr. Plump.

This time Sam held Mr. Plump tight, tight, tight. Holding on would keep him awake. He was sure of it.

Sam’s eyes closed. But his arms kept holding on.

Late in the night, with the moon high over the lane, Sam felt a wriggle. It was right there in his arms. Slowly, slowly, his hug was getting emptier.

Then the bottom drawer went eeek, very small, as Mr. Plump slid down onto it.

Then, across the rug, glub, glub, glub.

Then plop.

Sam opened one eye, just a crack.

There on the rug sat Mr. Plump, right inside the left rabbit slipper. He was wiggling himself down into it, the way a hen settles on her eggs. His long pig ear flopped over the rabbit ear. Behind him, across the rug, went a trail of little round damp spots.

When the left slipper was warm, Mr. Plump sloshed over into the right one. When that was warm too, he gave them both a nudge, so their toes pointed at the bed.

“It’s you!” said Sam.

Mr. Plump went very still.

“Glub,” said Mr. Plump.

Sam climbed out of bed and picked him up. Mr. Plump was cool and floppy and flat as a pancake. He had given all his warm away to the slippers.

“Thank you,” said Sam. “Thank you for every single morning. I’m so glad it was you.”

“Glub,” said Mr. Plump.

Sam put on his toasty slippers. He carried Mr. Plump down the hall to Mom and Dad’s room.

“Mom,” said Sam. “It’s Mr. Plump who warms my slippers. And now he’s all cold.”

Mom sat up. “See?” she said, with an enormous yawn. “Not me.”

She took Mr. Plump to the kitchen and filled him up with fresh warm water from the kettle. She buttoned his pig coat, and gave him back to Sam, round and plump again.

Back in his room, Sam stepped out of his slippers. He set them side by side on the round rug, with their toes pointing at the bed. Then he climbed in.

He did not put Mr. Plump down at his feet. He laid him on the pillow, right beside his own head, and pulled the blanket up to Mr. Plump’s pig ears.

“Tonight it’s your turn to be warm,” said Sam.

“Glub,” said Mr. Plump, very softly.

Sam did not count. He did not keep one eye open. He did not try to stay awake at all.

On the rug, the rabbit slippers waited, toes pointing the right way. And up on the pillow, Sam and Mr. Plump slept warm and snug, all the way till morning.