Poppy and the Soft Blanket

Poppy was the only girl in Marrow Lane who carried a blanket on her head like a hat.

It was a soft yellow blanket, as soft as a duckling. She wore it to breakfast. She wore it to the garden. At bedtime it was the first thing she wanted.

One evening, the blanket was gone.

"Where is it?" said Poppy. She looked under her bed. She looked in the bath. She looked inside her left welly, and there was only a sock.

"Mum, my blanket is lost!"

"Have a look in the garden," said Mum, stirring the soup. "I'm busy, love."

Poppy went out in her pyjamas. The grass was cool and the sky was going blue. Near the old apple tree, which always had apples a whole season early, she saw something yellow.

"There you are!" said Poppy.

But it was only a pile of yellow apples. She sat down with a bump.

Then the pile moved. It went wiggle, wiggle, and something went snuffle.

A small hedgehog poked out from under a leaf. She had the blanket, tucked round her like a cosy cave.

"That's mine," said Poppy.

"It's very soft," said the hedgehog. "I'm making a nest for my babies. It's nearly dark."

Poppy looked at the blanket. She looked at the hedgehog. Her tummy felt wobbly.

She tried tugging, just a little. The hedgehog held on tight.

So Poppy tried something different. She looked around and noticed the big pile of leaves by the fence. She gathered an armful, then another, and carried them over.

"Would these be soft too?" she asked.

The hedgehog sniffed. Then she patted the leaves with her paws. "Crunchy," she said. "But warm."

Together they made a little round nest under the tree. The hedgehog stepped out of the blanket. Three tiny babies went squeak and tumbled into the leaves.

Poppy picked up the blanket. It smelled a bit like apples.

"Goodnight," she whispered.

She wrapped the blanket round her shoulders and walked home. Behind her, in the dark garden, the leaves went rustle, rustle, and then went still.