Slow Feet, Flat Water
Nell lived at the top of a hundred steps, and she went everywhere two steps at a time. Two at a time down. Two at a time up. Two at a time to the breakfast table, and there were no steps there at all.
Nell and her baby brother, Tip, slept in the back room. Its window looked at the hill. The moon came up over the sea, on the other side of the house. By the time the moon came up, Tip was always asleep. So Tip had never seen the moon. He only knew it from the picture in his bedtime book.
But Tip pointed at anything round and shiny and said, “Moon!” The kettle lid was a moon. The doorknob was a moon. The white washbasin beside his cot was a very big moon.
“That’s not the moon, Tip,” said Nell. “But I’m going to bring you the real one.”
On still nights the moon floated in the harbor, round as a plate. If you were careful, you could scoop it up in a bucket and carry it home.
Nell was not very good at careful. But she did have a bucket. It had a dent in the side shaped like a bean.
Gus the ferryman sat on the harbor wall. He was counting his boats on his coat buttons and humming the ferry song. Hum-a-dum, hum-a-dee. It went up and down, slow as a boat.
“One, two, three, four, five,” said Gus. There was always one button too many. He did not mind.
Down came Nell, two steps at a time.
“Gus!” said Nell. “I’m taking the moon up to Tip!”
Gus looked at the moon in the water. Then he looked at Nell’s feet. “Slow feet, flat water,” said Gus.
“Yes, yes,” said Nell.
She dipped her bucket in fast, and up came the moon.
Up went Nell, two steps at a time. Slosh, went the bucket. Slosh, slosh. The moon wobbled. It wibbled. It broke into little silver pieces, and the pieces hopped out over the rim.
They slid back down the steps all by themselves, bump, bump, bump, all the way to the bottom. In the harbor they joined up into one moon again.
At the top, Nell’s bucket held only water.
“Oh, bother,” said Nell.
Nell took the lid off Mom’s big pot.
Mom was rocking Tip. Tip pointed at the lid. “Moon!” said Tip.
“Nearly,” said Nell.
Down she went, two at a time.
“Slow feet, flat water,” said Gus.
“I’ve got a lid!” said Nell.
She scooped up the moon and put the lid on tight. Clang. Up she went, two at a time, and not one drop came out. Not one!
Nell lifted the lid. The bucket was dark.
“Hello?” said Nell to the bucket.
“Moon?” said Tip.
Nothing shone at all.
Mom went to the front window. “There it is,” said Mom. The moon was back in the harbor.
Nell went back down. She was thinking so hard that she forgot to hurry.
She showed Gus the lid. “The moon went home,” said Nell.
Gus nodded, slowly. “The moon won’t shine where it can’t see the sky,” said Gus. “Would you?”
Nell thought about sitting in a bucket with a lid on. She would not.
She looked at the still, flat water. She looked at her own quick feet.
“Slow feet, flat water,” said Nell.
Gus smiled.
Nell dipped her bucket slowly, slowly, and lifted it out without a ripple. The moon lay inside, flat and round and shining.
Gus touched his buttons. “One, two, three, four, five boats,” said Gus. He touched the last button. “And one bucket with the moon in it.”
For once, Gus had just the right number of buttons.
Then Nell hummed the ferry song to keep her feet slow. Hum-a-dum, one step. Hum-a-dee, one step. Past the blue door. Past the lamp halfway up. Past the cat asleep on the wall.
The water stayed flat. The moon stayed round. It looked up at the sky. Nell could see two moons at once. One was up high. One was in her bucket, making her hands silver.
It took a long time. Nell did not mind one bit.
At the top, Mom held the door open without a sound. Tip was nearly asleep, but not quite.
Nell pulled back the curtain so the basin could see the sky. A little piece of sky showed over the hill. That was enough.
Nell tipped the bucket over the washbasin, slowly, slowly. The moon slid out. It wobbled once, and then it lay still, round as a plate. Soft silver light shone on Tip’s round, surprised face.
Tip laughed.
“Moon!” said Tip. This time, he was right.
He yawned the biggest yawn of the whole day. He put one hand on the edge of the basin. Then he was asleep.
Nell set down her bucket, bean-shaped dent and all, and curled up in her own bed. In the morning the basin would be just water again. The moon would be back over the harbor, where it lived, and Gus would count his buttons and find one too many. That was all right. Tonight the moon was here, shining on Tip’s little hand.
“Slow feet, flat water,” said Nell, very softly.
She closed her eyes. For once she was in no hurry at all, and she fell asleep in the soft silver light beside her brother.
