When the first frost came, Hedgehog was ready to sleep.
Every autumn, he made himself a little nest under the old hedge, and curled up, and slept all winter. But this year, when he looked inside his nest, he sighed.
"It is thin," said Hedgehog. "I do not think it will keep me warm."
Rabbit, who was passing by, heard him. "Oh dear," said Rabbit. "We must do something."
"I will help," said Robin, from the hedge.
"And me," squeaked Mouse, peeking out of a hole.
Nobody had a blanket to give. So they made one.
Rabbit brought soft grass, long and dry, and laid it in a thick layer. "That's the bottom," said Rabbit.
Robin flew off and came back with a beakful of feathers, fine and fluffy, left behind by the geese. "That's the middle," said Robin.
Mouse scurried about for a long time. She came back dragging a scrap of moss, green and damp, though she dried it on a stone first. "That's the top," said Mouse, "because it's the softest."
They tucked the grass and the feathers and the moss together, patting and pressing, until it looked like a real blanket, round and thick and warm.
Hedgehog watched, with big shiny eyes. He did not know what to say.
"Thank you," he said at last. It did not seem like enough, but his voice wobbled when he said it, and his friends understood.
"Try it," said Rabbit.
Hedgehog crept into his nest. He turned around once. Twice. He pulled the blanket up to his chin, or where his chin would have been, if hedgehogs had chins.
It was perfect.
"Goodnight, everyone," he said sleepily.
"Goodnight, Hedgehog," said Rabbit.
"Sleep well," said Robin.
"See you in spring," squeaked Mouse.
The three of them tiptoed away, each to their own warm place. The frost sparkled on the hedge. The moon rose over the meadow.
And under the hedge, a very small hedgehog snored a very small snore, under the best blanket in the whole world, which had been made by friends.