Snoozy's Day

I was woken at an hour I did not agree with.

"Lanterns!" Squirmy was already dancing on the spot, which is Squirmy's way of standing still. "All the way down the path! All day! Are you coming? Come on, Snoozy, it's the best day of the whole year —"

"It is dark," I said, "outside."

I was cranky. I know the signs by now: everything sounds too loud, and the nicest fluff in Candyfloss Land sounds loudest of all. So I sat on the edge of the bed and did three slow yawns before I said anything else, because the first thing a tired fluff says is hardly ever the thing they meant to say.

And while I was yawning, I thought about the party.

Everybody was thinking about the beginning of it. The going out, the hanging up, the lighting, the cheering. Nobody at all was thinking about eleven o'clock at night, when fifty-five fluffs who had been on their feet since sunrise would come in out of the cold and want somewhere to land.

"You go," I said. "Do the path. I'll do the end of the path."

Squirmy stopped dancing for very nearly a whole second. "That's not a job."

"It is the job," I said, "at the end."

So while the rest of the land went out, I went in.

Blankets down. Cushions along the window seat, which takes longer than you would think, because a window seat that looks comfortable and a window seat that is comfortable are two different pieces of work. Lamps turned low. The fire laid but not lit, for later. Chairs moved so that a fluff who wanted to be out of the middle could be out of the middle without looking like they had gone off in a huff.

And at six o'clock in the morning, before anybody had counted anything, I took one lantern off the wall and brought it indoors.

The last one on the whole route. The one that goes over Winky's door and says here, this is it, you're home. I cleaned it, because it had been in a damp box all season, and I set it on the table by the door where it would be ready.

Nobody saw me do it. I did not think it needed announcing. It was one lantern and I had it.

Then I had a very small nap, on purpose, so as to still be awake at midnight.

I found out much later — Oopsy told me, at the party, going slightly pink — that they had counted fifty-four out there at half past four and had a whole crisis about it, and that Oopsy had spent the best part of an hour certain it was his fault and nearly apologised for the lot.

The fifty-fifth lantern had been sitting on Winky's table since six in the morning. Cleaned. Where I put it.

I did feel a bit bad about that.

My party was the window seat filling up.

I sat at the end of it, where I had been planning to sit since about half past six that morning, and I watched it happen. Nobody came in and sat down. They came in and stood, still going, still talking about hooks — and then one by one, over about an hour, each of them found somewhere to put themselves, and went quiet, and stopped.

Homey ended up in the doorway with a hot cup, which is the best place at any party, and had the blanket I had folded on the seat earlier without knowing it was folded for anybody in particular.

By nine o'clock there was not a fluff in that room who had not sat down in it at some point.

I heard Beamy read the envelope out. I heard Rainbow say the thing about every feeling having done a job. Then everybody went out again into the cold to see the Wheel turn, and I went with them, and it was worth standing up for.

And I was still awake at midnight, which was the entire point of the nap, and which nobody noticed either.