Moominland Midwinter

I am utterly alone, and I’m tired to the bone. And I’m sick enough of snowdrifts just to lay me down and groan.

‘You’ve got too many things about you. As well as things you remember, and things you’re dreaming about.’

Now he didn’t shout any more, because he thought how horrible it would be if nobody answered him.

As a matter of fact, he never thought at all about anything for very long. Mostly he just had a feeling about things. His latest feeling was that his mattress in the nest was getting knobbly, and so he had gone out to look for a new one.

Now and again he mumbled: ‘A mattress,’ to keep himself from forgetting what he was looking for. He forgot things very easily.

All of a sudden he found that it was the most important thing in the world to open that door and to see for himself whether the bath-gown was still there.

That something certain and cosy still remained in the middle of all the new and worrying things.