A hedgehog by the name of Dot had found herself a leafy spot beneath the hedge, beside the wall, where garden rain could hardly fall.
And in the nest was little Pip, who would not sleep, who’d turn and flip, who’d lift his nose and say, “What’s that?” at every rustle, every pat.
“What’s that?” said Pip. Dot said, “The rain. It’s tapping on the leaves again. It’s only rain. It’s soft. It’s wet. It won’t come in. Now sleep.” “Not yet.”
“What’s that?” said Pip. Dot said, “A snail. He’s going home along the rail. He’s slow. He’s small. He’s silver, too. Now sleep.” Said Pip, “I’m watching you.”