Pip Keeps the Sleeping Town

Once there was a town of dormice who lived inside an old wooden dresser, at the back of a garden shed.

Every drawer was a street. Every street was full of teacups. And in every teacup, all winter long, a dormouse lay curled up fast asleep.

The old stories said the dormice slept for a hundred days. Nobody had ever counted, because nobody was ever awake to do it.

Pip lived in the second drawer down, in the cup next to his sister Dot. Pip was the sort of dormouse who could not find a good crumb without running to show somebody first. A lovely thing was only half as lovely if Pip saw it on his own.

One night, in the very middle of winter, Pip woke up.

The shed was full of light. Pip climbed to the edge of his drawer and looked. The moon had come down so bright on the snow that the shed window glowed silver. Silver light lay across the floor like spilled milk.

“Oh,” said Pip. “Oh, Dot, look!”

Dot did not look. Dot was asleep in her teacup, with her tail hanging over the side like a bit of string.

So Pip knocked on Dot’s teacup. Tink, tink, tink.

“Dot,” said Pip. “Wake up! The moon is on the snow!”

Dot rolled over. “More cheese,” she said. And she snored.

So Pip climbed up to the top drawer, where the town bell hung. The bell was a thimble on a bent paper clip, and it was only ever rung in spring. Pip gave it a good big swing.

Ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling!

All down the dresser, dormice rolled over in their teacups. One old uncle pulled his hanky over his ears. Then every one of them snored.

So Pip went down to the bottom drawer, where Grandmother Dormouse slept. Her teacup was the oldest in town, and inside it was a little brown tea stain shaped just like a boat. The bottom drawer had never shut properly. A thin cold draught came in through the crack, and Pip shivered.

Grandmother always woke first in spring. So Pip stood by her cup and sang the waking song, as loud as a small dormouse can.

“Wake up, wake up, the winter’s through! The sun is out, and so are you!”

Grandmother smiled in her sleep. Then she began to snore along, right in tune. And so did everybody else in the bottom drawer.

Hmmm-pff. Hmmm-pff.

Pip sat down on the edge of Grandmother’s cup. He looked at the silver window. It was the loveliest thing he had ever seen, and there was nobody to tell.

* * *

Under the shed, through a gap in the floorboards, there was a little yellow glow. That was Old Badger’s lantern. Old Badger stayed up all winter and kept it lit, in case anybody woke in the night and wanted a friend.

Pip ran down the leg of the dresser and across the bright floor. He peeped through the gap.

Old Badger was sitting by the lantern, mending a sock. It was a big grey sock with a red heel, and it had been mended so many times it was more mend than sock.

“Hello, Pip,” said Old Badger. “Hello, Pip.”

Old Badger always said everything twice, and slowly, so that nobody ever missed it.

“The moon has come down on the snow,” said Pip. “The window is all silver. I knocked on Dot’s cup, and I rang the bell, and I sang the waking song. And nobody will wake up!”

Old Badger looked up through the gap at the silver light, and nodded.

“Let sleepers sleep, Pip,” said Old Badger. “Let sleepers sleep.”

“But they’ll miss it,” said Pip.

“The moon will keep,” said Old Badger. “The moon will keep.”

Pip thought about that. He thought about Dot’s tail, hanging out in the cold. He thought about the draught in the bottom drawer. Then he looked at the big grey sock.

“Old Badger,” said Pip. “May I borrow your sock?”

“You may, Pip,” said Old Badger, and passed it up. “You may.”

* * *

The sock was much bigger than Pip. Going up the dresser, it looked like a sock climbing all by itself.

Pip pushed the sock into the crack of the bottom drawer. The cold stopped coming in. Grandmother snored a warmer snore.

He went to Dot’s cup and tucked her tail in, the way Grandmother always tucked in his.

“Night night, Dot,” said Pip.

“Cheese,” said Dot.

Then Pip opened the dresser door. On the inside, with his small sharp claws, he scratched a picture. He scratched the window. He scratched the snow. He scratched the big round moon. And in the corner he scratched a little boat, like the one in Grandmother’s cup, because Grandmother would like that best.

The moon came out a bit lumpy. But it was all there, waiting for spring, when everybody would wake up and see.

Old Badger’s voice came up through the floor, slow and warm.

“You kept the town, Pip,” said Old Badger. “You kept the town.”

Then Pip climbed into his own teacup. He curled his tail round his nose. He looked once more at the silver window.

“See you in spring,” said Pip to the moon.

His eyes went slow. His whiskers went still. And very soon he was snoring too.

Down under the floor, Old Badger looked up at the quiet dresser.

“Let sleepers sleep,” said Old Badger, very softly. “Let sleepers sleep.”

And Old Badger turned the lantern down low.

So the whole town slept, every dormouse in every teacup, snug and warm, all the way to spring. And Pip slept best of all, with the moon kept safe on the dresser door for everyone.