Ned Jumps for the Sheep

At the top of a crooked house, up a crooked stair, there was a little bedroom. In the little bedroom there was a bed. And in the bed there was Ned.

At the end of Ned’s bed ran a small white fence, about as tall as a cat. The fence was for the sheep.

Every night, when the lamp was off and the moon was in the window, the bedroom door went creak. In came the sheep, clip, clop, one at a time. Each sheep jumped the little fence, and Ned counted. One sheep. Two sheep. Three sheep. By about forty, he was always fast asleep.

The smallest sheep always landed on her bottom. Then she always said, “Ta-da!” anyway. Her name was Seventeen. She was not really the seventeenth sheep. She was the fourth. But she liked the sound of Seventeen.

Ned could not get to sleep without the sheep. He had tried counting his socks. He had tried counting the stripes on his pyjamas, but there were only nine. It had to be sheep.

Tonight Ned was ready. He had brushed his teeth. He had had his drink of water. He had turned his pillow over to the cool side. He sat up very straight and waited.

Creak went the door. Clip, clop went the sheep.

But tonight the sheep did not jump. The first sheep stopped at the fence. The second sheep bumped into the first. The third sheep bumped into the second. All the rest bumped into each other, until there was one big woolly heap at the foot of the bed.

“Oh,” said Ned. “Aren’t you jumping?”

Out of the heap wriggled Seventeen.

“Our legs are tired,” said Seventeen. “We have jumped every night forever. And nobody ever counts us to sleep.”

The heap nodded. It was a very sleepy nod.

Ned looked at the sheep. They did look tired. Their ears were droopy. One of them had its eyes shut already, standing up.

“Here is a deal,” said Seventeen. “You jump the fence for us until we are all asleep. Then we will each jump for you. One slow jump each. Then you can go to sleep too.”

Ned thought about it. It sounded fair. It also sounded like a lot of jumping.

“Deal,” said Ned. He shook Seventeen’s hoof. It was small and hard, like a pebble.

Ned climbed out from under the covers. He went to the far side of the room to get a run-up. Then he ran, pad, pad, pad, in his bare feet, and jumped the little white fence.

He landed on his bottom.

“Ta-da!” said Seventeen. “That’s how I do it too.”

Then the sheep began to count him. They counted the sheep way.

“One Ned,” said the sheep.

Ned went round and jumped again.

“Two Ned,” said the sheep.

Ned went round and jumped again.

“A lot of Neds,” said the sheep.

“That’s only three,” said Ned.

“Three is a lot,” said Seventeen. “Everything after two is a lot. That is how sheep count.” She looked very pleased about it.

So Ned jumped, and jumped, and jumped. He did a high jump. He did a jump with his arms out like a star. He did a jump with his eyes shut. That was a mistake. He landed right in the woolly heap, but it was soft, and nobody minded.

“A lot of Neds,” said the sheep. “A lot of Neds.”

Then a big sheep at the back put its chin down on the rug and began to snore. Then another. Then two more. Every time Ned came over the fence, there were fewer sheep counting him.

“A lot of Neds,” said some of the sheep.

“A lot of Neds,” said three sheep, very softly.

“A lot of Neds,” said Seventeen, all on her own.

The rest of the sheep were asleep on the rug. Their ears twitched. Their noses whistled.

Ned yawned. He yawned right in the middle of a jump, which is very hard to do.

“That was a lot of Neds,” said Seventeen. “Thank you, Ned. Now it’s our turn.”

* * *

Seventeen went all round the heap. She whispered in every woolly ear.

“Up you get,” said Seventeen. “One jump each. Nice and slow.”

The sheep got up. They yawned big sheep yawns. They stood in a line by the door.

Ned climbed back into bed. His pillow had gone warm, so he turned it to the cool side again. He pulled the covers up to his chin.

The first sheep jumped. It was the slowest jump there has ever been. It went up like a cloud and came down like a feather.

“One sheep,” said Ned.

The second sheep jumped, even more slowly.

“Two sheep,” said Ned.

The third sheep jumped so slowly that it nearly stopped in the middle.

“Three…” said Ned.

And that was all, because Ned was asleep.

Then it was Seventeen’s turn. She could see Ned was asleep. But a deal is a deal. So she trotted up to the little fence, and she jumped it, and she landed on her bottom, flump.

“Ta-da,” said Seventeen, so quietly that Ned did not wake up.

After that, all the other sheep jumped too, one at a time, very slowly, all the way up to a lot. Then they curled up on the rug at the end of the bed, round and warm, with Seventeen in the middle.

And in the little bedroom at the top of the crooked house, everyone was fast asleep: one Ned, and a lot of sheep.