Up the icy hill went Pippin. Then whoosh! The whole colony slid away in a happy tumble.
Pippin skidded to a stop. "Oh," said Pippin.
One book peeked out from the snow. Pippin tugged it free and brushed off the white powder.
The others tumbled toward the shore. Pippin opened the book and listened to the hush between the waves.
Pippin carried the book to a snug little spot beside the sea.
First, Pippin tried a slippery rock. Splash! Tiny drops dotted the page.
So Pippin scooted under a bent driftwood arch. That was better.
Then a gust came. Flap-flap-flap went the pages.
A picture of a giant fish seemed to leap right out. "Whoa!" said Pippin. Then Pippin grinned and turned back.
Soon Pippin was reading louder than the waves. The snow light turned blue.
Pippin swished flippers and made tiny hops on the blanket. Every part got a voice.
Then came the funniest page. Pippin barked out a laugh that bounced off the ice.
Pippin looked around. No one was there. So Pippin read the funny part again, even louder.
After that, Pippin came back every day. A little stack of books grew beside the waves.
Some days Pippin whisper-read. Some days the crab king got a grand, silly voice.
The sea hissed. The pages rustled. Pippin smiled into the snowy quiet and turned one more page.
