Bear and the Late Echo

Henry the bear was rubbing his eyes with both paws, on his way to the old stone well. He was so sleepy that his feet went slow, slow, slow.

Henry wanted one thing. He wanted to go to bed. But he could not sleep until he said goodnight to the well. He always did. The well said it back, a second late, every time. Nobody in the kitchen garden thought that was strange. The bees didn't. The parsley didn't.

Tonight Henry leaned over the edge. "Goodnight, well," he said.

He waited. The bees hummed. Nothing came back.

"Goodnight, well!" he said, louder.

Still nothing. Henry yawned a huge yawn. His eyes drooped. He could not go to bed with no answer.

So he tried something different. He shouted, "GOODNIGHT!" Then he flopped down on the warm herb path, right beside the thyme.

Then up from the well came a small, round voice. "Goodnight!"

Henry sat up. "You're late," he said.

"You're late," said the well, one second after.

Henry giggled. Then he noticed something. He had shouted, and then he had stopped to rest. The well had only been waiting for him to be still.

That was the trick. The well could not answer while Henry was busy talking.

So Henry leaned in once more. This time he whispered, very softly, "Goodnight, well."

He did not say anything else. He just waited, with his chin on the cool stone.

One second went by. Then the well whispered back, soft as a feather, "Goodnight, well."

Henry smiled. He yawned again, and this time he let it be as big as it wanted. A bee drifted home past his ear, humming low. Henry curled up on the path, his nose in the sweet smell of thyme, and the humming grew quieter, and quieter, and quieter still.